Preamble

in the blind end of this afternoon
or the next or soon later
I would like you to wait with me
and squint in the last sharp yellow glare
together at the death of the day

it is cooled and not cold now
and you can feel the winter
only in the shadows and the wind

there is time now
there will still be time
tomorrow there will still be time

when it is gone and dark
we will walk
until the streetlights drown the sky
starless
guided by owls and satellites
until we are sore and full lost
and have found a place
neither of us knows

there is time now
I believe that
tomorrow there will still be time

in this blind den
of our hibernation
I would like you to wait with me
for this winter or soon later
and squint in the first dim yellow glare
together

there is time now
tomorrow there will still be time
I believe that
tomorrow