Withering suns...

As the night just 

got stuck onto you 

I try harder 

to pluck the day

out of the moon-tree. 

It is then a thousand suns 

wither like autumn leaves 

only to make you smile 

which in turn brings 

my last boat. 

I now start sailing 

to the banks 

of the spring.

,..

Spillover

It takes exactly the same time
as drinking a cup of tea
to write a poem

As one takes a sip
the words fall into place
one after another

And then a poem
just sits there
as an empty cup

,..