My hand, accomplice, writes down
what the winds of time wish to keep
blown into me, drawn out of me
and kneaded

into common words, short
sermons in comprehensible lumps
and every time adding a dash
on the tally stick of man

All the worldly wisdom
in clouds of short-sight between
blinkers and closed doors
against the fear of getting too little

and so many emotions with it
about past, present and future
not to mention the
reproaches and apologies