Hope the desperate land again | Gentle zombies nod and sway | no voices come for their one voice | My father’s mellow baritone, Run, Rabbit, run, Rabbit, run run run | The glittering sand that falls into my eyes | pours out of your eyes | falling and pouring through these empty shells | Morning, hopelessly new when the heart is over | The perfect song can have no song | Every sun is a plot against the sun

Thoughts of you | of how we touched but left no touch | decanting sand through dry vessels | summer being one | This was a real story | to pin a bliss on the cicadas’ score | wrap the girl in birch leaves, the boy | in his mother’s | funeral lace | Begetting nothing | and so moving on | Your sun, my sun, the sun, a sun | The mind is a fine and private place

 


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

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