Things that break in your hands | Silences you break with a word | Thistledowns lost on the wind | All the things and the one | silence

The trees, turned to powder by our | kiss | The sky shattered to blue dust, we must lie down || Even our silence trembles with opening flowers, and the rain we are breaking with a | sliding palm | far off, in us, falls | into an unwanted darkness where | vigorous weeds take root and begin their | climb to light


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