moon and soul

Moon with dark fire
as if bent over a book
barefoot he stands
he is something more
than a lamp in the attic

his half is searching for the other half
scattered above black grass
moon with dark fire
touches a woman and a guitar
but it is not that —
his halves are divided by
an unforgettable forgetting

under the moon an open window
there is my head
and a garden of candles stuck
into the ground like burial swords

the moon is tangled
in the night's loose hair -
its stories like webs

my head today is so silent
it looks into the open window
its silence is the silence of a friend

when twilight falls
the moon is already pale like a soul
and I say to it:

“you did this
pale scribe
hold your half -
hold your soul and do not let go”