Well, my old diary
has almost had its day
I read it over once more
for beautiful sentences

too beautiful to be lost
I copy them and weave them
together with imagination
with equally beautiful sentences

My experiences seamlessly
fit together with possible events
that I now, years later, imagine
and would have liked to lived

just as Stendhal reworked his
dull notes into a stammering account
of a heavenly experience, dizzy
from looking up at the vaulted ceiling

where the painting, on the contrary
is anchored immutably in the then
still wet lime, entirely real, firsthand
Grandeur, not only in hindsight