Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Window
The Window
you are my bread
and the hairline noise
of my bones
you are almost
the sea
you are not stone
or molten sound
I think
you have no hands
this kind of bird flies backwards
and this love
breaks on a windowpane
where no light talks
this is not the time
for crossing tongues
(the sand here
never shifts)
I think
tomorrow
turned you with his toe
and you will
shine
and shine
unspent and underground
Friday, October 20, 2006
artworks that I appreciate
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