Beach combing


The good old times of my parents
have become a transparent
I love you on yellowed paper.
Dull shades, a wrong angle
the signs of a future
and the lighting that failed.

Here on this page 
they are still living in 
discotheques of countries
now ravaged by war.
Something nobody would have 
suspected then.
The wind was favorable and the sea
pulverized fear into shell-sand.