On the Appointment of Rudolf Eucken to the Chair of Philosophy

Slowly he fades,

His voice, some words,

From a streetlamp,

Its white face

Hanging free.

“Goodbye…” you hear

To the sound

Of footsteps

On cobbled stones.

Silence. 

How it surrounds you

In this street

You no longer see.

But you wait still,

Under a light

Far too weak

To illuminate this night

Around you.