Little clown with pink hat
deep across her ears,
the braces highly raised,
hands deeply put into her pockets,

looks
relentless naïve into the world
which
- with his games-
is for her inconseivable as a distorted mirror.

-----------------------

In my elderly home
the walls are covered unspoken thoughts in patterns of madness. Sometimes sounds a small word,
or tingles a coffee spoon in the night. Knitting pins are tapping through the time.

We are singing hymns by the organ, while clouds are running through the sky.

The language lies unspoken on my tongue,overwhelmed by thoughtless ears.

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The houses in the street are crying, water drips along the grey walls.

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