Seen from any hill
where stars shoot across the night sky
warm breath
becomes frozen steam.
White illumination
gleams through cracks in curtains.
as resting homes, hospitals…even prisons
blend as shadows.
Paid care moves
over polished floors
hard soles on shiny surfaces
echoes of sterile silence.
Doors are closed,
by creak or metallic clanks,
a machinery will shut down
only by rehearsed commands.
A solitary substitute
will now distribute pathogens of life,
a magazine, a pill or loneliness,
remedies for memory.
By Michael Henrik Wynn
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