(Monday morning, on the roof of an Oslo construction site.)

~

Seagull. Filthy peace flag screaming
His own name upon the city.

It is I! Eater of scraps, leaver of
Droppings!

Sword beak, dagger tallons!
Anti-raven! White blood cell of

Your airborne bloodstream.
The skies would be half a chess

Board in my absence!
I sit on the rooftop drinking water,

Listening to him echo between
Tired buildings.

Norwegian city morning.
Sunny and cold.

I watch the red of mist muffled light
On his wings as he soares towards

The bay for his fifth breakfast.
Today will be an interesting day,

I whisper to my soul as I empty the
Bottle and stand up.

A conductor tapping his baton against
His note stand, raising hands and an

Eyebrow to the orchestra.
Get your Monday in tune, and the week

Will follow accordingly.
Seagull. Filthy peace flag.

Declaring himself victorious
With his every forceless breath.

~

we never speak about it
it just happens while we lay beneath the sheets
one hand moves to my hips, gripping me close to his, pressing himself against me
and then our clothes are off, and his lips explore my body, eyes focused and calm
mine are wide like the hesitant deer I am, my mouth open in a perfect little circle, noises releasing like smoke into the air
his moans are like music to me, but he is so quiet and his walls are built so high that it is impossible to break

i want to talk about it. i want to hear about his day and his mood, but i suppose his head between my legs will have to do.

Drowning,
Is what it feels like.
The words we shout,
Heavy like concrete,
Tied around our ankles.
We'll hold each other,
As
      we
            sink.
Gasping out "I'm sorry",
With our last breath.

1147

After a hundred years
Nobody knows the Place
Agony that enacted there
Motionless as Peace

Weeds triumphant ranged
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone Orthography
Of the Elder Dead

Winds of Summer Fields
Recollect the way—
Instinct picking up the Key
Dropped by memory—

smelling like dryer sheets, i stepped out
to a crisp fall morning.

a Southern fall doesn't start until October,
but something was rushing the chill on to us
saying "bundle up now, and cover
those goosebumps"

i haven't heard from you in a week
and i wonder if the Jewish New Year will be good
to me. i
clamber through my day, like
a child's first time at a rock wall.

at the top, i scream to come down
but they told me i had to jump,
so i didn't move

For a Syrian boy.

Slipping away from desperate arms
Within salty, dark waters.
Familiar voices fade with distance and    
Drown, as stars become
Blurs lulling you to sleep with their

Good night twinkle-twinkles.  
Hands too small for any gun or
Grenade open up like little flowers
To a night no night-light ever could
Illuminate.

~

Where was God when you whimpered
In fear?
Swam an angel of light in the darkness
Down there in  
The deep, with her comforting hand on
Your motionless shoulder?

Little Dream Brother.
Dreaming nightmares all meant
For another.
Asleep in the sand, with the ocean
Washing over.

Dry your eyes,
Little girl.
Don't let them in.
They're only words.

There, now. There.
It's just a tear.
A raindrop from your  
Atmosphere.

I promise you
Clear skies again.
Brush off your knees.
Arise again.

Dry your eyes,
My little friend.
More things begin
Where others end.

So stand and shine
Despite their words.
They envy you.
Of course it hurts.

Hey, what have we here?
For me? What did you draw?  
A little dream?
That's really nice.

I love the way you have coloured  
In the lines that connect the
Hearts of friends you
Have yet

To make, to your own.
They may still be stick
Figures, but I sure
Get the idea.

Can I really keep this?
I'll put it on my fridge, so I
Can see it every day.
Thank you, sweet little teacher.