Poems

Breathless Postcard

Nature doesn't take care of anything
doesn't even look back
Lightning rods and paradises
and every verb in the infinite.       [wordplay = infinite - infinitive]
I die
inside the landscape
where seasons pass
by the clocks out in the open.
From the train's windows
to time
brusque cuts quick
plucked by the root from the open air:
what the moon takes from the stone
pieces of sky and sea
mountains, ah! Beyond and alien
torn leaves, must & have what?
And in which notebook?

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Comments (1)

ara bituin

when did it publish ?

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