Pitch Black

Incoherent scattered thoughts
under a moonless night
where I cannot see shape or shadow
moving on a frosted roof.

My breath is both frozen and warm
because it is winter and summer
on the black rubber roof
where I spy the moon
as big as a flying saucer
and as shapely as a cat’s eye.

I perceive that night too,
when we we reach our arms
towards the starry sky
and lean into the elemental traction
which pulls us upwards,
on a boat drifting through Deutschland.

For time moves in all directions,
here under this pitch black sky.

Of Gardens and Serpents

The words of my mother fade,
her voice reverberates,
in a vacuum
of stars and gently turning planets
where we are all connected
among astral light and dark matter,
between oceans of space
that stretch beyond comprehension
into parallel universes and other dimensions,
among ghosts and shadows
that we cannot see with our eyes.

Eternity moves through me,
and I wonder if this is hell.
Am I trapped in my memories
without any future?
A specter.