Knocking smooth white riverstones against a pane of glass

The photocopier,
a riverstone whetted against a pane of glass

Leaves pressed to the
sticky winter road

(the tree sneezed
a jackpot of leaves)

lustre sleeping in the wrinkles
in the w--
there is no fog in the

morning this winter


a l--
a letter from my mother

an extension of your fingers

to learn green by heart. Orange.

What left me alive
took the carpet from my feet

You blinked
another page filled with words.

poet's biography ->