Things that fit in my palm.
A beam of light
that plays on my ceiling.
Bird noises
outside of my window.
An “I remember you.”
Things that
make me remember
that the world exists,
and I exist,
and that I haven't blended
into the surroundings
until the point of being unrecognisable.
Like a premature death
before my last breath.
Or a ghost, only seeing,
and never touching.
But I still wish I knew
when my last moments
would be
long before they came.
My last concert.
My last glass of alcohol.
My last shower standing up.
I'm made of those lasts now.
Little moments of past
slowly drifting away from my present.
Things the future will never know.
“Back in my day” sentiment
that was too impatient to wait
until In my day was over.
Time melting into each other.
Will I, in 20 years, say;
“Back in my day
I watched
the sun move over my ceiling
to tell me another day has passed.
Back when we could see the sun?”
Maybe a remark on
climate change will fit better
in another poem.
But I don't think so.
Cause everything is connected,
even small things and the sun.
(This is a poem about light)
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