April is the cruellest month but isn’t May the kindest month, luring squawking pheasants to look late Narcissi in the eye, feeding future plums trained on the wall, letting last year’s seeds turn into borage, rue. Looking down the steps across the street above the shops, the trees, the hill with its tall tower and the sky full Mary’s colour- shall we go there, you and I? Surrounded by the sea of city sounds like a distant view which does not disturb the centre. In the endless rain of winter, raincoated and umbrellared the passers-by pass by. In summer, will there be cherries on the lawn and blossoming girls in blouses with inviting buttons and under the branches a hidden bed of leaves; under the sun, will time stand still? On the way there, exams to pass, quarrels to unfold, and dragon jealousy will reappear, and stay, casting a shadow on the scene, on everything, a dark streak through the sun, bitter in the taste of kisses. Above the last hut, by the lake totally translucent the flowers smaller and smaller tiny gentians shine back at the sun their impossible blue. There in the mountains, there you feel free.
Tilo Ulbricht
2014
Image: Piotr Zawsza