Silver trains passing | one leaving the station, one | entering a tunnel | Caught a spark | dragged it along | for a while | So many lives | not hooked to that | blue | Stillness of figures | in the opposite carriage | a cordon | of air | a gust of petals | whirling | between the tracks | as a new | kind of stillness | begins

Notebooks | Poetry on the edge | of prose || A darkness | at the edge of the mirror || Of all the journeys | fanning out | across the city | with a new | shape of air | between them | and her head | lowered, slightly | to one side | and with no | chance of return | you | take this one

 


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

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