Soon you are too far in to forget, you believe | Its forest | arouses around you | rising and rolling | Your wristwatch, tied to a heartbeat | Your footsteps, trailed by an echo | Grandeur in files, rude monkeys | grimacing | baring their comedians’ teeth | malinger in hard drives | A waterfall on a phone, her promise | (broken) | a wagon | left on a branch line | Habit brings you | spectrally | back to this place | you hardly wonder why | You had reasons, but what are reasons? | they slide | on the current like | reflections of vegetation | on a river, and | when it’s very dark | (clouds cover the moon) | there are no reflections | at all || Starting off again | Turning a new leaf | You will never know when your life is over | As for the words | they squawk and chatter | off into infinity | and refrigerators | No one, and everyone, completes the puzzle, but | what do you care, anyway, when the trees are so green, the air so clear? | And all of this is | lost immediately | the greatest | along with the | most humble things | You must realise this? | At night, sometimes, the forest falls | silent | You feel | a trembling in your heart | and you know | you make the forest, and you make the forest | with forgetting…

Completing a draft | Checking the colour of a character’s eyes | (the blue of forgotten | childhood skies | in early August) || Shock | of the old | life | stirring again | days of games arcades and supermarkets | and your mother’s hand | before the flood || Don’t come back here, what would be | the point? | It has all | taken itself into the snow again, and the snow | has melted | Your memories | carry you, but | they are so lost and so full | of lost things || When you remember them | to life once more | this place may | spark a Spring | and the meteor | arc across the sky | but such a March will never | bring the snowdrops | out | and the white tail | will only scatter in gossamer bones | laying its howl down and | resting, at last, from the passing | through endless space… || Or was it the hazy blue of the waterfall, near noon | in the mountains?

 


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

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