Poemsonacircle

I make pancakes in the morning
hear the birds singing,
forget the syrup.
The sun shines into my kitchen.
I should be baking bread
in the old oven.
My head tells me that it´s not time.
The oven crumbles and whirrs.
It still works.
But the pancakes fill my stomach.
It would be better baking for you.

Last year in Spain
we met to talk
about your wedding shoes,
the singing and our plans
to go camping in Andalusia.
You wore no glasses but blinked at me
with the lights of your car.
We would never camp in Spain
our talk was in vain.
But we would see each other again
and sing again together
even if it was in plain weather and rain.

They are playing at the sea.
Both play with sand toys.
She digs in the sand with a shovel, while he is building a hut. They both dig for seashells. "Look", he calls to me, "a raisin!". She takes it away from him and hides it inside the hut. He laughs.

I clean the window-pane,
outside there's rain.
The drops outside seem like dust.
In wiping, the pane becomes a polished mirror.
I see;
a windmill and my gaze follows its feathered wings.
My hand touches the glass
trying to catch them.
The flakes are mirroring the light,
but they're almost gone.
I ought to have blazing new window-panes,
see-through and light, tells me a voice inside.
But I like imperfect illusions of colors
in sight inside.
The feathers outside fly away, as in lay-spring.
I see them die away.
I need to clean
as I knead the clay for her, only more!