Selected Poems

Selected Poems

Toward the centre

A raft of branches thorny
leaves scattered marked
by hours glasses the
diurnal arc night-vaulted
vantage points the sun’s
path or a steeplechase
toward the centre our sun
being a centre yet pretty
small at the same time
a dwarf only a little dot a
tiny dash amongst the
many dashes of spilt milk

A landscape

slowly drawn into the
white the lines drawn
across crinkled on top
of each other hollowed
in your hand the linen
the folds the shadows
shifted very confidently
the linen rumpled ...
the words whispered

Notes, relating to time,

or colours, and rain, maybe,
whatever it will be, a story
about lions or fish, flying
on and around a chess table,
fracas – and at sea, the sails
bearing, or is it just some flickering
of light, some necessary angel,
dissolving in silver, or in gold,
a relation of light, a word
like lavishness or heat
prescribed, some scribbling and,
circumscribing the waves, knowledge,
and that after the rain there will be air

Video (German, with Spanish subtitles)

And in each corner

sound close to sound that many
eternities ... there’s dust lying
in ambush ... the angel
girdling a thunderbolt ... and folly
trying to storm the sky! ...
like you see yesterday embedded
in today the salt the sweetness
this transient piece earth
I hear a whisper from afar:
Can your leg become wing
at one gingerly touch? ...
a dream bouncing soft-footedly

Video (German, with Spanish subtitles)

The lesser white

... capitulum, inflorescence, the sun irrupting
suddenly, and yet real, a sentence, casually dropped
engraved, the grass was still wet. And again
the handful of water; like daylight, intricately woven
the rocks, an efflorescence of rose daphne laureola;
the semi-desert, signature, notch or groove, the material
words, or initials dissolving in silver or in gold, the tongues
of angels and yet real. That’s what it could be,
essentially, head voice or of a bird, and why
that lighter sky

... the fairy tale to walk into, the edge

of a word, gilded, the roots intertwined, the maze
luminescent, the painting of a saint, behind glass; and
that the story goes on; and what there is
curling, and beneath the heel there’s ice crushed maybe
frozen seaweed, or some flickering light, from within and
outside at the same time a word, dropped casually
on the whole, sheer dazzling lustre
and beyond, the sea, flaring