The blinding light stands massive

around the walls

The morning sun dazzles through the windows;

the potted plants become sharp fractals

of unknown nature,

until I step into them,

dress my face in them,

and they place their leaves against my cheeks,

like an aged mother, her wrinkled hands

over a lost son’s eyelids

The potted plants show mercy;

I let them

I see entire mountain ranges of tasks

through the shimmer of frost

(One of the cats is sleeping, curled up in an armchair;

the other, wide awake, on the windowsill,

watches, with his whole body,

the flutter of feathers around the bird feeder

outside the kitchen window)

I want to learn Chinese,

I want to print out the diaries,

digitize in writing

what has already been digitized in voice;

an impossibility (?) this late in life;

a timely death will turn untimely