poems

what do we listen to?what stands betweenfingertips and the soilthat feeds, feeds, feedson the bad luck?gives, in return,understanding anda great urge to crywhen i findblood red leaves fallingfrom the sky what do we hold?0515AM: condensation on a glass of waterand my gaze.sweet pigeon seraphim, blessed be your nesti felt myself not a visitor, but a…

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an ember of hope remained, removed thereafter of hope remember we moved, stained hereafter what a lovely cinder what a great shame fire hurts

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from a place you cannot seecomes a sound you will not hearbut do not fear:alive is the treeyou put your life behindalive is the morningyou set out to feel. a sound you will not hearfrom a cry you will not near to,a mere galaxy of words you hold not dear to,fear of a blank planet…

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