My colours are orange
with joy, pink

with compassion, and shades of brown
full of quiet contentment, but
mostly they are undefined

a mixture of hot and cold
of yesterday, today and my fantasy

about tomorrow, with undercurrents
from the sea of the people who
flush into me, flood after flood

past my rocks, over my dikes
and through my membranes

There are no steady places
to preserve and visit
my feelings, they are

bigger than me, they have no boundaries
and without a passport, they can

jump over to sharing together
I exchange them with family and friends
and let them change their colour

Under the green splendor
of duckweed, the sun turns
away, the fish are
dying - it is natural

a wonderful balance

I myself swim outside-in
in the warm water filter
of my silver and silky
black feelings

around the parasite flowers

The large autumn moon
of my love is rolling
on the waves of ebb and flow
back and forth between friends

and the night

Alone in the empty movie theatre
between the carpets
my eyes in half-light

closed, back and thighs
firmly in the chair travelling
through the buzzing space

of busy traffic
of merging and outgoing
in the distance and somewhere

a song slides by
- familiar emotions
on exits without a destination

going around the network of roads
Therefore and because no one
would remember the song

it points out, in half-light, only half
the way, but this does not matter
in the one universe of the journey

In veils of uncertainty
I stand on my balcony
the stones lose colour

turn grey behind a shower
and sink in the shadow
of black clouds, I'm waiting

for steaming clearances
that shoot colours again
in my quiet house

     The day has a lot of time
     and all that time I'm standing here tired
     working hard, bouncing

     emotions back and forth
     between all and nothing, bundling them
     one by one in the prism

     of my heart and scattering
     their colours far outside me, and then
     crystal clear silence

Feelings are malleable
stretch them out and wring
them in all shapes, roll

them to little balls, bounce them
around like overthinkers
do, then you see them

leap up like cocoons
in the bowl of your hand
he says with wide gestures

on the limestone boulder -
paddles of thumbs
and laughing eyes

under the rooflets
of white eyebrow hairs
pushing straight forward

He gives me a wedge
of Gasparini's meringue
yet he still has all his teeth