
Tinier than a man can see
I had thought light and then dust
was my enemy, but then I saw the mold,
spores of it skipping from the window to the shelf
to the tops of the books below.
These freckles I bleached.
Till I dreamt of them, swirling.
Not for fear but love did I dream –
for he in whom the cancer had spread –
of microbursts and a metastatic sky.
Trickster
God has put himself
there, too, where,
God knows,
we shouldn’t go
The dark side of Dick Bruna

Women swimming
They plunged deep in
out of the world
right in the middle of it
Various birds of one’s yard

Rosary for my daughter
When you sleep in a tent a lion may come
and therefore I give you this knife
The new flex worker

“Back to Square One” by Peter Land, 2015. Kunsthal Rotterdam.
It doesn’t work that way
It’s not in a can.
You can’t buy the can
and open it
and pull it out
and dress it up with mustard.
Nor can you dream it up
or get rich enough to buy it.
That’s not what it is.
It doesn’t work that way.
On a platform of the station
