(Note: I’ve had this urge to write poetry instead of the prosaic stuff I usually write, and this is what came out. It came from a dream image. Hope you enjoy it).
The bearded man with dim eyes
Sits before the fire with a bouquet
Of leeks in hand. He is crying,
Naked except for a loincloth, the darkness
Surrounding him, not a single star
In the sky. The tears stick to his face
Like thick sap, the acrid smell of leeks everywhere,
The acidity of his loneliness everywhere.
He is alone and will remain alone,
Awake and crying,
The leeks in his hand,
Its fingertip stems sprouting
Like the bristles of a broom,
Until the dawn comes and
The fire goes out when he will
Stand, stretch, leave the leeks
For someone else to taste,
and walk into the
Mist to never return.