At the Moor

Wanderer in the blackened wind. Dry reeds whisper

in the stillness of the moor. A column of savage birds

ensues in the dawning sky.

Over murky waters they cross.

Uproar. From the crumbling shack

the black wings of rot flutter up.

Crippled birches sigh in the wind.

Evening in the forsaken tavern. The way home is shrouded

by the tender sadness of the grazing herd.

Night becomes manifest: toads emerge from the silver water.