Leaving fingerprints on the mist | evidence | We were diverted from our course | we had planned for a diamond, ended with egg | Holding up | Burglars in paradise | wait out the storm in a kind stranger’s house | Perfecting the recipe, but never | eating | Awaiting the famous | saint’s arrival | but missing her | our attention slipped | to the robin’s song | our own eyes and what | for so long | they had lost

Losing direction | Ever more tender, ever more subtle, the shapes | the wind makes in the laurel, the rubbish, the dust… | Misadventure: the expedition | to old age | somehow vanished | no sign of them | no flare | no record | of distress | no baggage | Signal | dropping out | Whine and batter of a storm | in the background, garbled | voices, is the storm | really our life? | Like bearded, tender kids | picking up with the wrong crowd | Cars | entered the desert, but | never emerged | a psychopath’s | lullaby | the fairy tale | of bearded admirals | Uncommitted | to the gentlest crime | Heroes and heroines | fighting injustice | with megaphones, poems | sisters and brothers | in khaki fatigues | mix in the tear gas | parents | looking so anxious | an entire destiny | bogged down in details | foundered | in the great meanwhile | children | cast to the limits | of neglected graves | in humid corners of forests | gemmed with moss | Fainting at the beach | installs a new angle | into the sea, and we realised | the sea | would never be the same again, but then | it never was…

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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