I wish for nothing more.

The running through the streets in dusk and dawn.

The dampness of grass and the chill,

to the core.

The quiet of the tarn.

Be still.

That’s all.


A lost poem.

I wrote a poem a few days ago and suddenly it got lost.

Vanished in the void of emptiness.

It was different from this but some of the spirit is here:




No sound.

Angels in the heaven call out, holy.

There’s a train passing by.

Flaps of wings through the sky.

And a sound from the ground,

Underground, a dead hound.

Worms and maggots, swords and daggers.

Let us cry, you and I.

Bid farewell.

Once more.

No sound.