Sunshards in the Waterhouse

 

Sunshards in the Waterhouse

I glide down through liquid crystal,

a drifting fall through weeping air,

where droplets shatter like glass

and light flickers, trembling.

Listen — it falls.

Again and again.

Down into water: plish – plash.

An endless rhythm,

as if the world had a beat

built from dreams.

The dark stripe beneath me,

a shadow —

like a runway

for thoughts.

And I wonder: how far, how deep

can sunlight reach?

If magic and trickery

still lure you in,

then build yourself a house of mud,

a crooked, dripping Waterhouse,

where you wait —

linger —

surrender

to the play.

For under the waterfall

there is no roof,

only drops

to baptize or to mock.

The light begins to boil,

multiplies,

melts into fire,

and bursts into golden splinters

on frozen steel.

Sunshards fall

into your Waterhouse.

And no one knows

if it was magic —

or just a delusion

with a beautiful sound.

Text und Bild : Andreas Stock 

Ort : Wuppertal