By storm

09.22.2020

— fatal child : sukkeret sunket brænder i maven du hører din vejrtrækning og isen under dig (synker)

07.24.2020

—yes. the roses smell like happiness and sorrow  or maybe that’s all i am smelling —very soft, i would like to try a yellow too

04.23.2020

beads   there’s hidden stars of bright days, as the tide of arctic   water you no longer see, still their lasting   impermanence  softening your heart; make it just calm enough   just enough beads for a trail to follow their being  as your path low, then   rising like larks  recurring in springs

04.21.2020

beads   there’s the moon and the glowing flower cones of the chestnut’s replying there’s the sirens and a blushing arrives where the morning will roll in there’s a birthday you won’t attend touch and laughter you’ll rap in silk and ribbon lay down, next to a box of milk teeth, glass with coltsfoots shopping lists, wish lists receipts and savored place cards a tray of beads and friend’s spare keys; there’s an own life of each thing and a blessing in the innocence among them

04.20.2020

beads   there’s the laughing spring sun and the powder of clouds softening the sugar light the haul of traffic reduced and the sirens continuing as a taken city’s wailing (her) cubs or lost children’s calling everyone in hiding, families in their pods, bellies to back or left entirely for second homes then there’s you and others, as broken beads mending our shape in splendid quietness