Morning

there is no me.
there is no you.
that early last-year snow
has covered all our
future traces.
your hands are shaking
spilling up
small words
which are bouncing from the low sky
hitting really really
deep
we are hugged by
autumn wind and
yellow leaves
it is nice only in the dawn
while birds are sleeping

by a touch
of a little mouse that would
eagle want-to-become
one day
who knows
you are awakening only sadness
wasting it over
endless fields
of my fertility
of course that it will grow
if one love could
become proud in order
love to become
why wouldn't now
decompose
all these atoms of fractals
all these light years
games that we played
why not
who is going to say
that different would be better
we do not know about ourselves or others
nothing
and it seems to us just sometimes
that we have found some golden wire and followed it
and then we are wondering
where from, suddenly, silver frost
and graves
by the road.................