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Paul’s plaint
I have a bitter spot,
a little burn lodged
in my side
still smoking
That microfiber we call sanity
Should a fly alight
and rest there awhile,
then we might know
how fine a fiber it is.
Stripes
We joined our life in June
You opened the gate.
I brought the first box.
You unpacked.
I cut the grass.
Together we plucked and weeded.
That was it,
the all of it:
soil and grass,
new pine and new paint.
Did anything ever
smell so fresh?
Two circles of steel
Two flywheels flipping
the sun and the miles
I’m looking for
a field of weeds and daisies,
where the heat and sweetness
rise together,
and the horizon is enough.
Geodesic station
We would that it were not
But alas,
’tis bitter true.
Enemy goal in extra time
Oh it’ll drop.
It always does.
Utrecht Journal 