Imbued with such… | Infused, so… | You | Entangled, after all | Like salt hints, in wild strawberries growing in the dunes by the sea | Dots of scarlet and gold, lovers hiding from pursuit in the sedge | Travellers from the far-off Indies, and not | a doldrums claims all ships, your small dark eyes, and the hours we will waste | looking for each other in places | we’ve just left, or would simply never | reach | Very fine sparks by dint | of sudden hammer | elicited | life-force of peacock blue, hurt manganese, so carnelians, like eggs of polished honey roll | but | it’s the strawberries I remember, and the pedestrian tumult of the sea | the | scatter of cool raindrops from my hair | on your tanned shoulders, inklings | of disasters befalling lost explorers… | In its name by a hammer | struck, again and again, like a sullen genie | roused from a lamp, no | magic on its mind today, just | the heart’s ordered turmoil, beating and beating as the hours pass by | our sleep a creak of wooden gates | on neglected hinges | the children’s house astir | at the gravel’s crackle from the footsteps | of approaching strangers

 


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

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