Having seen all that it touched,
I see why they call it withering
Tag Archives: poetry
Windmill on the A2
Blades on trucks
on the freeway at night
gliding will turn
but never in flight
Candle
I’ll lie
before it a bit.
I need
the comfort of it.
Over the river, through the wood
Death shadows us
This pouring down
Every drop is a way back up
Don’t read this for answers
This problem of not being
who you are will not be
solved here where
the wind will blow you
from the bike
G is for God
G is for God.
G doesn’t
sound at all like God,
but “God” doesn’t sound like God
either. God is the one
cupping her ear not caring.
The bicyclist was is and ever shall be
His passing is from
the pedaling that’s done.
His pedaling makes
the passing we’ll see.
Palest blue of the 5th of December
A single thought drifts in
hangs, goes
To do
Milk light from the blue, aging night sky.
Drink at last of its newness.
Utrecht Journal 