By storm

11.17.2020

on the south side of the twins couloir this morning,there is a flock of many hundreds, closer to 1,000 than 500rosy finches.they’re backlit against a woolen sky a couple days ago in the same area two similar-sized flocks foraging and flying. they coalesced in flight,playing, then went onto disperse like your heart eludes me

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