Poetry

With the moon that is tonight missing
as if it has strayed somewhere
and the stars dimmed out
by dark clouds
and just now and then
a bolt of thunder
that hits bleak white downwards
I am let free from very high
and are almost a machine
that breathes through a mask
where a tank is attached on to my back
and from higher than the horizon
and with every enemy guard, guard-tower
radar station primed
against foreign penetration, intrusion
I fall hyper-quick, as if I am passing time
while life, the whole world
comes to a standstill around me
until I am mechanically reminded
that the ground is almost too near
and the parachute jerks open,
pulling me back into time
with the ground almost touching my boots.

[“1. rendezvous” by Pieter Strauss.]