Haggard fields,
A frozen landscape in ruins.
The last pale light of winter,
Fading over the horizon.

My lungs assunder
My hands covered in cheap wool,
The barn I dreamt weeps in hushed silences

The old landmarks
turned hazel and brittle,
in air, pollen and grasshoppers
the color of corn.

My fire dies tonight
and emmbers rise
touching eastern crowns,
as ragged men sleep on ground.

we speak in whispers-
as moonlight flows,
the shifting darkness
a web and crow.

Trembling at soft sounds,
only the white gull,
only the demolished fragrant woodland;
there! in my electric mirror.

Midwinter storms sweep away thy own path.
straw mats with angel faced eyes the color Danube,
marble cliffs and multicolored flowers,
a dream within a somnium.

My dear,
hide those salty tears;
for he who holds the earth upright is hidden
and the vibration you feel
have no human traces.

The sun is now behind trees
and the trees hide behind the powerlines.

My tree, small as it might be still blooms each spring.
I have only ghost who listen to my shoulder pain,
men dont cry but purchase graves.

He had a romantic curiosity
being simple as summers on the farm.
innocence with this pathological fear of loneliness;
living under the weight of imperial iron.

The pulse of time eats at his sullen heart,
pregnant with the city
that comes alive
in the dark.

lower latitudes
and winter nights,
heavenwide a spark of light.

He can still see his mother
stuck in the foothills,
she had safe-passage tonight
and he was meant to remember

Let blossoms calm my nervous hands
Let clouds divide the sky,
oh angel,
heal this mans waking mind.

Let the cows graze
as the dogs bark and howl,
Let his poems rise again
and make them smile.

Let the woodland vistas
shine in ease,
as the valleys below
echo in peace.

My soul changing into god,
i know of gravitys authority,
a black hole, paradise.

All worlds end.
all here still spontaeous,
raident eletrons going inward,
I urge you.

The kings seat
remains empty-
the first voice with intention,
graced us a milennia ago