“It’s spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart”

R.M. Rilke


Though it’s May, “my life will be forever autumn cos you’re not here”1

You’re “in these arms”2 but can’t be felt, pain severe

When dreams make love to nightmares.

Who cares?


The offspring cremated by morning frost.

No Pentecost,

No finger into the palm would sneak.

There’s some green on the twig.



  • Jeff Wayne: War of the Worlds
  • Jon Bon Jovi: In These Arms