Sunday, March 12, 2017

and the moon

and the moon the moon
closer than ever
and we sleep

and then again
one hundred years ago or ten
I kissed your nose
and you shied

when lynxes cried
where you and I
dived the ice cold lake
in the middle of summer

Sunday, March 5, 2017

morse

still clinging these withered leaves to the naked tree
standing next to it perfectly still and there is branches swirling

roofs have dripping water coming down
like a morse throbbed into earth
which receives it as such and brings it forth

thirst

and the sky is hungry for flowers