My dear tree of birth,

we're just as old, just as bold --


but you're growing buds.

I do know it is me
that woman I don't know
that friendly but strange

face, which is also on photos
with a wide mouth, with folds
crow's feet and high temples

that do not match, not with me
not with my hands, that eagerly
touch life

Only the eyes of others
are used to the mask
that I cannot take off

Even my own sister
is not surprised, she knows me
older than I am

I am not ugly,

my ruptures and shortcomings --


are worth a lifetime.

The leaves are fragile,

at the slightest they come off --


caution! breathe softly!

I have become old
and I can only play
with my thoughts
the rest is too stiff

But don't be mistaken
it is pleasant to feel
in today's warm wind
what it is like

to stand on the jetty
in a thin dress, waiting
without the need
to do anything

but enjoy, flapping
in the sun, while I
can see now how
it all will continue

My crush and the child
who embraces my leg
the same child next to me
with her own child

on her arm, our feet
in the surf, breathing
one love, three women
with wild hair

just like on the mountain
where I throw up the ashes
into the world, that's how I play
my life together

Grandma is doing

her best to help, everywhere --


she stands in our way.

People are too short old
and too long young, they don't
become as wise as brownies

They have little profit
from the lessons they draw
from pain and pleasure, and

from the lessons they ignore
because they prefer to believe
in what the world promises

because they prefer to believe
it is within reach
and the prospect is worth it

to keep waiting
and I can't do anything about it
I'm just a rainbow

that is never there where you are
a gate on the horizon
where all the exits come together

I am old, I drink

wine from a small nameless field –


to visit one time.

Other people's wind blows
along your house and my house
with old songs that we hum
when sweeping the floor

We look at Déjà vu
once more and we dance
in thoughts, in real life
we are off the map

My breath is precious, every minute
twelve times pain and misery
twelve times the gentle wind
that conforms, that snuggles up

against the busy people
as a knowledge that we exist –
a reaching embrace
with always thinner kisses

when all they grow old,
practices and beliefs are getting sold
to their grandchild ,and surprisingly found some accede
looking at the past few years,
they met with themselves and never lived with tears
yeah,they cry sometimes when someone knocked them down
but they never stayed long low on ground

today, lying warm at bed,
smiling at all memories they treasured,
happy to enter for a long slumber,
and waiting to become a dream inside a dreamer...