Agape Review kindly published this new poem (see here: https://agapereview.com/2021/12/22/thenightingalesflute/)
In honour of Annette von Droste-Hülshoff
The nightingales flute
The paint is peeling off his walls. The nightingales flute cheerfully.
There is no heating in the flat. There are no thorns in paradise.
He sits. Antimacassars pressed. He rests in the sweetest space.
The pension is worthless by now. His heart is safe in treasure chests.
Alone, his stomach aches for more. God is with him. He has enough.
The nights dominate the daylight. He sings to the eternal light.
It is time to close his old eyes. The nightingales flute cheerfully.