3/30/25

3/29/25

 



if i am not certain

of the love of the earth

is it safe to take my life from your hands




3/28/25

 



the compass turns to a lone, dry wasp

in the silence of the alarms

all voices burn




 



what is thirst will find its way

when no one is looking

modest beatings




 



beneath a sky that may or may not answer

i bring out my heart

i begin to read




3/27/25

 



beneath my hands the axe splits open

on which side of death

is rest




 



because there was this inside them

the tea cup cracked

the face ceased




3/26/25

 



when they are the last

and left behind

will the living waters speak




 



winter

            in a stranger's tongue

no doubt the house

has honest blood




3/25/25

 



thus i was made

            vein laid upon vein

no trace of yes in water

            or blood

no name and no

            odor of wound




 



life leaves its artist’s mark

small, red—

then weeps that i live, bled




3/19/25

 



wind is not the death of light :: darkness does not quicken withered leaves







upon the death of the mortal vine :: shall my veins grow new wine

(reposted/revised from January 2021)


 

3/17/25

 



umbrella, old, unclaimed :: endured the attic of my rain




3/16/25

 



in the perfect darkness of what is to become :: who cradles the mother of dawn




 



escape is the timeless lie :: my path never strays from its crow




3/14/25

 



With a piece of chalk, I drew on the blackboard the moon's golden eyebrow.

                                                                                                                    Yannis Ritsos




3/12/25

 



playing in the clouds :: my soul smells of earth




3/11/25

 



the shipwrecked surely shall learn to sing those songs that built the sea




 



With a bird for a pillow, I lie awake every night.    

                                                                                                Yannis Ritsos




3/10/25

 



wind, carry us into my house :: the moon won't open for hours




3/8/25

 



fisherman gather me in :: fall back to your place in the sea




3/7/25

 



winter sharpened

            mortal sky

blood-tipped locust

            thorn, at

the point of joy




3/6/25

 



i hear sighs and silence

            dormant forest

 

dark in the east, my city

                                    laid to rest




 



stone saint

            an engine

     idles

            the sky

        longs to be known



(or)



stone saint, an engine idles :: sky longs to be known




 



there’s never enough earth

            to drink our tears

                                                                        love

 

it takes years




 



white bone

            on the beach

                        where i wanted to walk alone




3/5/25

 



life death

put flame

in an iron box


who feeds

that flame

can never stop




 



music of the lake when it is ice

            rapturous crackings

before and after

 

            the first and last of life




 



some forget to breathe and dream :: ways of seeing fall like leaves




3/3/25

 



journey begins :: 


                               bell to wind




 



storm clouds but no storm

three journeys

in last night's dreams




3/2/25

 



rain brings back

the mist, the bridge

the desire to remain in my body