To trust in coming
To believe in something
Being in peace
At daytime I was looking for the soul
While wringing out black and white sheets
Prayer
Overdose
Sirens, prayer

I do trust in coming
Cause my name is made of blood
I was born like that
I will die like that
Amid Broken Angels
Who are my brothers
Who are my sisters

This day is taking ages
Words are bubbling from Eden's mouth
In the morning I heard them
Sunlight shining through the window
Sleepy Gods were waving at me
On their way to work
To built the house of coming
From the sweat of Broken Angels
Brothers and sisters
Love and tolerance is our code

If you know you know

The nightingales are sobbing in
The orchards of our mothers,
And hearts that we broke long ago
Have long been breaking others
-W. H. Auden

At 6 am there was thunder
loud enough to wake me and the cats
rain toe-tapping on the pane
calling us to the theater:

"Come look at us, heavy clouds
of dark morning: spray-headed,
sunrises in our throat.
Enjoy our Sunday eyes"

I did. The paper people
at the bus stop huddled
& dissolved under wet slants.
The crust of horizon broke away

into thick puff-parcels, and
beneath it all the water flung
itself against the scory stone
before escaping down the drain cape.

"Come look at us, the wet-nurses:
our hands on the doll-face petals,
the walls of leaves. We evaporate
into the sea engine, purring with life."

what a special relationship birds have with air
not only breathing it but riding it
the same as fish with water
and Humans have learned to put their complex communication
their voices, exhaled onto their breath.

Summer arrives, scent through open windows
busy Bees heavy laden chased back outside

The Gulls songs have changed
the Cuckoo has arrived

All manner of garden birds
fill up on Sunflower hearts

All is greening, reaching for the sky
as I live fully a miniscule life.

Night came,
stole her away.
It slipped in through a slit in the light,

The stranger, pale and grey,
with unfamiliar rudeness wrapped
tight boney fingers around her neck.

Then she was gone.
Now we both are captives
of the night.

I watch the
parade of
trivialities line
up like
hemlock,
like mad dogs
yipping at
my ankles.

I'm too
crafty for them.
I laugh and
yawn
and watch
my cats play with
an electric fish.