“but instead of an answer, there came only intenser longing”
— Kawabata, Thousand Cranes

Trying to cram more salt | into the honeycomb | it isn’t | simply | the problem of limited time | Even though we moved | the towns around on the map | we still couldn’t find our way | beyond the stifling bar and lukewarm lemonade | Did we think we could appease thought? | With what? | Rolling a star wheel half across the night | plotting ourselves out of the play, the ghost | actors with their improvised | shelter | how could we make their tenderness ours? | Still | scenting you | in the fuzz and dust | from the collapsed huts of old kisses | Folding up the last | set of HOW WHY WHERE & WHEN | somewhat wearily | starting on the next | Oh but why | won’t it work? | Thwarted, bemused | going on as we must | showing the storm our co-ordinates, explaining the mountains

 


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

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