Poetry

116. the magic behind the frog’s metamorphosis

(an outtake out of a concept-driven series of photos I'll share with you soon)

(an outtake out of a concept-driven series of photos I’ll share with you soon)

*

now, it is time
to write you up from the
few notes I have scribbled
on a list

(„leftovers“

1. a box of matches you stole from
that posh place we mistakenly crashed
the first night we refused to go home,
2. your musty smell I liked because it
reminded me of my grandmother’s bedroom,
yet another second home
3. a nickel I stole from you that makes me smile,
you only ever carried change
4. a silly drawing,
5. a photograph of a bruise,
6. a photograph of an afternoon,
7. some lyrics to a song,
8. some blank paper.)

now, it is time
to remove the list from sight,
stick it into a drawer I rarely use,
to find by accident in a couple of years
when leftovers become relics.
time, that’s what the alchemists were missing.
they didn’t even need the stone,
time eventually turns anything to gold.

now, it is time
to wait for time.

 

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