I can still remember
that clock hanging on the wall,
a time that I was not allowed
to turn on key,
peacefully listening to it
in the autumn rain.
There were childhood mornings
with half-closed eyes,
eyelids were sticking
like snails to an old fence
on the sheets filled with colored balloons
smelling like hand made soap
and apricot jam.
So many sledges blunted the snow
that I’ve almost forgot how it was:
wax dripping slowly from the Christmas tree,
me cutting flowers in glossy paper,
grandmother knitting and dozing,
waters flowing, waters freezing,
the teapot sizzling with lime tree flowers
from a spring without calendars.