The footprints leading back home are being erased, home
It’s lunch hour and we are standing in a parking lot

First we are thinking of buying a salad
then we think of thinking of buying a salad

What does the hand do if it is of stone?
It caresses the asphalt

Also stylish and well-behaved couples
can relax by fishing

Did you hear the scream? You can’t hear it
Air doesn’t conduct electricity or sound

I have never sensed the alarm as precisely
as I’d want to, as precisely as I should

Maybe there’s left-over salad on the asphalt, the skateboarders
drop it sometimes; we could eat it

First I saw a hand, then the whole body
but I didn’t recognize myself

What’s left behind of us is not love, after all,
but long-term skin problems

In the snowstorm we search for remnants of salad
Bent over we search for the hand that melts into the snow