Behind landlady’s eyes
a sceptic squirrel sits
with folded arms
If you scratch this face
the squirrel disappears
into the dark woods
Right now the silence
of our ears
is a cricket’s song
A plane crashes
in the ink sea
when I dip my tongue
to write
The squirrel sits
straight with a
jerk and strokes
his anxiety:
If I see
a map
upside down
we will all fall
But the clouds
have slippery eyes
beating hard
our swollen umbrellas
If we fall
into the sky
we could return
these eyeballs
The sceptic squirrel knits
trouble for solutions
Next morning I
see a hole in the wall
As tall as our building the landlady
tells from her stage:
My mongoose takes
an evening walk
from your house
to the neighbour’s
He did not
want to disturb
your door
