We drank coffee and visited the grave.
What could have been said, wasn’t said.
A blur of grass and kindness kills the real.
Remembering a day long ago
A letter for every box
Why must now
All these images I land on
move?
As if we weren’t unstable enough already!
Overseer
Oops!
Rounding bends of a mind
I’d thought mine I find
You who’ve thought up me
It’s never too late to pray
Oh, the division!
Return to your loom, Lord,
to weave us all together
This day a school
Of speculation lit
chiefly by stars
Humble servant
Utrecht Journal 