Asking for heat | Getting lost only seconds after entering the building | Asking for fire | to be kept in the right place | not lying around in | dollops and stacks | causing hurt | Choosing between | bread and diamonds | breath and space | Throwing the room | into a new shape | what else can you do? | Committed to life | what else can you be? | All the guests in your head | and one of them | you | Keeping the cold | with you but | tame as you may | domesticated like the | gods and needs | and the fire | we place in the other | dish of the scales | Quiet in the empty house | Hoarding our tangents | Sensing other lives | fanning out | over the country | Living near airports | Watching the flames | eating | roof and floor | Reading Ray Bradbury | Listening to news | Taking the glacier for a walk | each evening || the air | feels thin | worn out || One | less | dawn || Never pinning down | the ghosts in the mirror | Asking for love | but putting too much fire | into the path | through the woods | into the walk | by the sea | our own fire | the fire | just for us | The ice is jealous | Putting off grief | for others | Putting off grief | for ourselves | The small green dot | on the wireless receiver | means that the thermostat | is asking for heat | And it was a great party | but now it is ending | who is this guest | who just won’t leave?

 


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