Once she stole a boat—is this how it started— at night to bring the pond a gift— it was a bird of salt—which was taken into its reflection. But the pond is not the sea. This is where you lived. The lesson of dissolve—but it was a bird—sifted to the bottom of all her actions….
Wind shook the trees and rain crackled at the windows. Could it have been any other way? Rain coming down, clothes wet, water dripping from our hair? At the window, could it have been a ghost singing its final warning? Clothes wet, water dripping from our hair, he fell on me like rain. I could…
translated by G. Wiersma let’s ignore what happened in the past in a place that could be anywhere a lamp flickers between sparks of light in darkness I am precisely etched happiness or suffering just at this moment are indistinguishable
yes no maybe sometimes always never Never? Yes. Always? No. Sometimes? Maybe— maybe never sometimes. Yes— no always: always maybe. No— never yes. Sometimes, sometimes (always) yes. Maybe never . . . No, no— sometimes. Never. Always? Maybe. Yes— yes no maybe sometimes always never.
Friends should learn to think differently about leaving— everything goes away: the sun, clouds, even stars become nothing after a while * * * Remember when we found that old mill by the stream? The fallen walls, leaves dropping, ancient mounds of archeology Remember being 13? The angle of the light? And how we…
translated from the Greek by Stratis Haviaras & Dana Bonstrom Now that all is moot, finished, yes: a handful of Londoners, yourself included, can haunt the world again from the safety of your clubs. Just who do you think you are? Wagering other people’s money on matters of such revolting precision Imaginative in your benevolence…
The map’s measurements mimic . nothing in the world The field’s new furrows . follow the wandering gulch Sometimes sentences and lines . need to be the same Daughters suffocate . beneath their fallen fathers Anything you can explain . I don’t need to hear . Unpredictably angled . strings crisscross a grid The three…
We play this same game at the end of every day, which you love as much as I: I have you in a gentle headlock, I’m hard against you, my mouth, my breath a graze from your ear— but I’m not talking to your ear, I’m pouring pictures direct to your tender brain: I will…
if this is insecurity, call it, then, the nature of arrogance if you stare at any photograph long enough, it will begin to flutter, & eyes inside will nearly wink there are only two ways of reading this, & i have already forgotten the second one every time i ride a bus from one city…
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