”My hand is no longer in yours. We met in chapter five of the book of fate. It was a day when water beads glittered on the stones at the beach edge. Golden sun-rays tickled. In the cheating on the window, my shivering finger drew your name. You made my hand and we played game between the lines. The words that were strong flowed. Stayed deep in the tank. One day the frost came and froze the beautiful words to ice. The book had no end but was caught by the wind that brought it to the desolate shepherd. There’s only ice heat left.
Poesi Brigitte Ranniger