Between branches of a weeping willow,
	Half a hexagon of puzzle fragments,
	Moon's dim haze reflects from the wall
	Just over the path of my front garden,
	What children live beyond the gate?
	With nine years of age, I have to ask:
	What is there? ¬ do not know.

	Which direction, what plan to adopt?
	Then my thoughts fall into the 'you',
	Giving answers, fragile or counteracting
	How does inanimate matter work anyhow?
	With fourteen years I have to ask again:
	How do I comprehend? ¬ But
	Every new heart, a new question.

	Pursuing my readings like a fad,
	With nineteen years, I still have to ask,
	Erring randomly along a silhouette band,
	Dead between red planes of sky and lake,
	At one corner: how? At the next: what?
	A billboard ad, repellingly darts back:
	Truth can only be found in a vision.

Udo Frentzen 1995 - 2012