Collections for Sale
Twenty-seven raindrops inside a cup of white:
inseparable. Sold for a song to a thirsty Helicida.
The lily, bent down by the indolent mollusc
went unsold and unpicked that day.
Eight slices of homemade banana bread
(forged by three years of practice and care)
exchanged for a seat and a plate and a spoon
a feast worth its salt (suo sale) with prayer.
One thousand and one scraps of paper with hope
sent out to the world: what does it know of dreams?
Two phone calls, three emails, nine hundred rejections:
A resume — meine Träume — fit for a king.
Three sharp pangs of grief from electronic ghosts:
a network unknowing of Θανατος.
No price is sufficient for turning time back,
so the holes resume echoing loss.
Six billion echoes of dreams once forgotten
Were offered for auction:
but nobody bid.