jardin botanique | jardin oblique

The traveler’s injustice makes a city out of what one feels…

Tiger is Tiger

Tiger is tiger, and man is man.

These rooms are spilling over, with everything I’ve been.

The alarm I set was never “started”, so could not wake me.

the moon’s been sold
as well, these skies

if you believe in weather
then we live on a spinning top

The branching of the Arne River is by this hill
where its voice grows adult from upstream child…

Dry on the surface, green underneath, and half a cord short.

If you travel far enough, and well enough, there is no need for a backward glance.

Last night the wind picked up and, as I gently dropped into sleep, it not so gently opened its mouth and blew and blew and blew.

I would begin with the letters they wrote to one another. Begin with their words of the daily, with a thread of love woven around them.

Between the hills and the channel, the crows flew into the cornfields as they had two hundred years before.