FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

what we touch still turn
to stone
what we love are always
wings of departure
what we long for we soon
detest

we are full of love but no one
likes to have them

what we have in our hands
are bouquets of
white African
daisies

we wait by the door
we descend the stairs
we look far on the road

the flowers wilt and there is still
no one there

when we left for good
and then we are far away from where we come

they have arrived and turn all the lights on
it's their party and we are not invited.