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Why I love my wife
As I dress she asks,
Another day at the
wood-chopping farm?
And yes, it does begin
in a kind of wood
where trees pose a problem,
physically or metaphorically,
and you wouldn’t want one
landing wrong in either case.
My chopping, of course,
being but a form of bewilderment,
won’t bring one down, but
you’re right to note, dear,
my attire would well serve
the man who could.
Scooping up light, just for you

A significant complication
How is it to hunger
for words others can’t say?
They can’t say them
for they wouldn’t be true,
and who doesn’t bleed
for a bit of integrity?
But they want to say them,
to fill the hunger.
Thus does one hunger beget
another, and eventually
a famine.
St. Francis in Holland by Hans Pape

Lost Lamentation
I’m on fire and swimming in a pool.
I’m swimming underwater and still on fire.
But nothing burns
but me
Maybe I’ll get lucky with the clouds

Skywriting

Can I make out of words
Can I make out of words
what I wanted to get on film?
Ten seconds of the freight train
rumbling by?
And a boy biking,
his pedal striking
the kickstand loose
and useless?
Pater de Bruin
