Month: August 2019

  • The fallen winter rose [a collaboration]

    [30 August 2019] Today’s poem is a collaboration with my dear friend, the Norwegian poet Orkidèdatter. From her first poem I read till now, I have been consistently captivated by her words and her art. She is not only a talented writer and a gifted artist but also has a beautiful and tender soul. I…

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  • The Beheading of John the Baptist

    [29 August 2019] The miles drag on. I wear a rut14 months thick in the space betweentwo railway ties. I count the distance,measuring it in bygones and forgones, consideringall things as nothing except that they might bemore than I initially suspected, making mudfrom dirt and saliva, and serving upmy eyes on a silver platter, the…

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  • The Myth of Icarus

    [28 August 2019] Morning, and I see your back dented in and moulded into the shape of longing and autumn and my stubble. The seconds punctuate your breath and my breath in an elastic pizzicato, a give and take with a logic deeper than any rhythm I have heard before. The curtain sways gently, a…

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  • The Remains of St. Paul, 28 March

    [27 August 2019] We watch in silence as the bulldozers tear down the rest of the old church, brick and plywood and old green carpeting descending from the sky and landing in a heap on the bare earth. The dust cloud lingers, disseminates, spreads and works its way onto our skin and into our bodies,…

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  • Narcissus, ii

    [26 August 2019] but the cracks in the mirror only belie something deeper, more transient. I smell the smell of you, of me, of us lingering in church pews and train cars and hardwood floors, taking root, mingling with dust and dim sum and desire, feeding off of sunlight and moonlight and whisky. Something strange…

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  • The breaking open

    [23 August 2019] The breaking open, soft, still, and steady, the outwarding of the innermost indoors golden-dappled hues of amber and ochre and scarlet and crimson. Touching, gently, the space between your fingers, growing a lifetime of mystery written on the once-bud where the leaf still clings tremulously to the branch. We, too, have our…

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  • The promise

    [22 August 2019] I stand, at the place where the river splits in two, wondering how long it has been since I have called this place my own. I hear you stirring in the waters. Your name runs warm across the back of my hand. The side splits. Splits down the middle. Splits at the…

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  • Somnus

    [12 June 2019] Memory is made Somewhere between the start of the sleep And the end of the dream

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  • Fragment: black hole

    [20 August 2019] One day, all I will ask is to hear you speak my name once more – to see my face in your eyes peeking out from just behind the veil.

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  • Ode

    [19 August 2019] SummerMidnight wildfires The fox lingers on the path

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