need a break?
breakfast?
coffee break?
lunch break?
linebreak?
heart break?
summer break?
christmas break?
breakfree?
breaking bad?
break-a-leg?

in a thick milk bottle
a dark green one
which grandfather found on the beach after the war
having inside a shriveled yellow paper
without any drawing
without any inscription
the grandmother's ashes stayed for a while

grandmother being skinny
the bottle was almost empty
so the grandfather put the paper back in place

when he missed her
he took the bottle
put it on his chest
and spoked to her
and when my grandmother had to answer him
he was turning it like an hourglass
and so he did for two years
until he crouched too
(although it was harder
because he was hefty)
in the milk bottle

then
to make room for him
I finally took that sheet
and I stuck it on the window

when it rains on the sea and it's lightning
on both sides of the paper
two overlapping palms can be seen
one of a woman
and the other of a man
crossed in filigree
by a single line of life

nothing else

A repeating line of patterns of something deeper then memory
It's the motion of waves of wonder of maybe something like pain
A wanting to lessen to soften to gently lay my head down
It's not what's happening now

I see you, looking with, without
a shine, you don't define, in confine
You won't share, what you made of
Like a little bit of, what I can't think of
Some details you won't care,
What won't you engage
I am in your head, and you have conquered mine
You try to dust of my shine
Listening to my words, you nod off
I've been trying to connect, intersect
but it is maybe that something I lack,
You think I am waste of a chance
a nobody to spare your glance
In track of things that won't happen
You drew a fine line
I am stuck on my side, You've gone beyond.

writing is easy
when your heart is in the lead
your mind in the back
of itself
i guess
but as soon
as something happens
worth writing
my brain says
i told you so
crosses the line
my heart left
in the back this time
locked away
bleeding
along with
the pen
as i run
out
of
ink

Reached a point
Now it's just the waiting
Stay in line
Stay behind
Just the waiting
Sure ok
Swear in my face
It's not my place
It's a point
Soon it'll be revealed
And everyone will see
Who's really me
But for now
Just the waiting.
(I don't want to call it hiding)
There's a point
You're getting there
(I'm already past it)
But I'm ok with
Just waiting

I. The Beginning
In September she gave you a name
That came with weights and burdens
To break into.
Straightforwardly, you marched them.
As if it were the only thing to do.

II. The Middle
Four miles beyond the confines,
You left in the morning to gather the water.
I was told somewhere along the way you
Fell in love with the aftermath of a line,
And began a new life in its crooked symmetry.

III. The End
I don’t know if she hoped for a life of grace,
or love, mercy, or passion.
Regardless, it is all ok somehow.
There is something to knowing that, when it is over, we may go forward
And start afresh in the broken ranks.