Now

I don't breath, I sing.
even when I sigh it sounds 
like I accidentally hum
a couple of notes that
were sung to me last night
while I was sleeping.
It is as if the air is 
my blanket and I most of all
like to rest my head on the 
pillows that are my lungs, the
place where I hear my heart beat
in quadruple time:
I exist,  I exist.

Caught on tape


These are the shoes of a man that if you say
here are your shoes, says there are my shoes.

Thinks: my flowers, my flowers in the world.
He travels on socks back and forth in front of his house.

He's  the sweet man who talks to kids.
He imagines that his street is a nest against the world.

One morning when the world overflows, 
he opens his window, takes his shotgun
and shoots dead all the flowers and the neighbors too.

A crowd gathers. People talk, point.
Everything is being filmed by the media. The flowers,
the general feeling in the neighborhood.
Look, his shoes.

Finally free..

Finally free
from this frivolous summer
with its feint figures
and pipe dreams, glistening
in false light
of empty expectations,
I heave a sigh of relief
and welcome the coming season, 
cool like your hands on my face,
grey and gentle like your eyes
during those sparse moments 
that you let me in,
into your snowed in cave
where your voice befriends its echo
and your reflection rises silently
into the ice that doesn't want to melt.

Over.


She wonders what it would be like
to be alone again.

The man who's living with her is working
unsuspectingly in her garden. She removes 
his keys from the chain.

She wonders how she is going to break the news 
to her friends and family.
The table back in front of the window
the cupboard back in it's old color.

Does he have any clue at all? He plants
tulip bulbs. She smiles, like always.
She is already making up fights in her head
and erasing his name from the birthday calendar

The conversation


He is already holding the door open for me.
I hesitate and fumble with the buttons on my coat,
again nothing was said.
My feet are facing the wrong direction.
How do I get out of here?
This is of no use, I ignore  his timely 
held out hand and leave almost tripping, 
while I say what I don't want to say.
He is standing in the door looking aside,
his faint smile already passed goodbye.
The big window mirrors my departure.
When I turn around at the gate
I see myself: looking like a fool, I think.

I'm not 

I'm not going to fall in love with you,
you, with your calm tread,
stepping into my life.

I see your calm eyes
and know how good you are:
your tenderness comforting
my loneliness.

And I haven't kept anything hidden from you:
my happiness, my anger, my suffering, my lust
and how your care made me
blossom in silence.

But I'm not going to love you with a
burning heart and brain.
I don't want to fall in love with you
because I want to be happy.
 

double image

excruciatingly slow you disappear
walking away backwards, looking at me
I try to smile
but I see you fading
transforming into your shadow
into a caricature of yourself

I placed mirrors at 
an angle in the sea
and waited for the sun
I ripped colors from the white
but you already turned too light
even your hazel eyes
turned grey

now I hang from your feet
I don't want you to grow wings
to - together with the doves and the wind
leave behind your reflection