Summer passed so quickly, and I hardly remember
the house on the hill anymore. Still, I spent many
nights there. Lightnings illuminated the enormous magnolia.
A lightning bolt always takes the shortest way between a cloud
and the ground. The owner rarely showed up, not a leaf
moved in the wind. He was playing Kinderszenen on such a
precious instrument that you'd doubt the whole thing, afterwards.
I'm left standing with a glass key in my hand. Smoke, against
your face a dark gust. We easily consider ourselves
defeated. Deep down there the water is gleaming,
a tributary to the mighty Missouri.