••• LIV

a song that breaks my solitude in two

so that it has company

to hell with chronologics.

.,.

••• XLI

home is where my heart is

find me there

Avignon captivity. the smell of incense. you can sense it from under the snow. aware of how cruelty can feel soft and pleasant when still in check.

i am leaving Europe for hot and dusty paths. it has blessed me with a few days of snow. i have never wandered this far away from my churchyard, naturally i reached it for a farewell blessing. bathed in its warmth when freezing.

.,.

••• XL

the white Christ

for the gravity is always multiplied for saviours. for their messengers. can we resist? let us hope for mercyful snowfalls. like the one of today, when i marked st. Jacob's with my intruder footprints. black boots on the impeccable snowdown, a red silhouette with hair only half-red. half-dipped in blood, life essence. and half-open for the cycle of passing.

the snowflakes so perfect and still, solace of falling. melting on my mobile screen. i felt i breathed out for the first time in two weeks. chill and stillness.

relief.

and the downward bound Christ that kept me standing agaze. a favourable lord as long as… right, i
almost heard him whispering -


as long as your army
keeps perfectly still


.,.

••• XXXIX

there's a hole in my neighbourhood 

down which of late i cannot help but fall

share no sheets

collapse on a bed ticked down by a clock

or the shadow of it

.,.

••• XXXVIII

ruins of a morning

a few day more and i will nestle myself against these well-known scents and temperatures, the dew and all scars after what has gone. 

once i asked myself what you do when you had run out of footprints. i am turning this question around in my mind again and watching it cast shadows, playful and blurry, and soil-flavoured.

.,.

••• XXXVII

one who sows wind harvests thunderstorm

where have you got your tan? so lovely!

asked my mom when i got back in the evening.

on the graveyard.

i answered.

good as any other place for catching the sun before it is above and ruthless.

let us bask in its yet merciful rays together, like idle brothers a decade ago. 

.,.

••• XXXVI

call roll for all flowers beheaded

unless there is anything else lost in the grass.
else than hands of a greying dandelion.

.,.