Without a word

Interestinggg, my muse of the nimble-feet that you decided to delete the last cord of our communication: a cue of ‘moving on’ or sullen irritation? Interestinggg, my fascination locus, that whatever swung your focus – “in some shit” you did mention – erased your previous courteous attention. You didn’t say good-bye; you neglected an adieu.

Poem 104

Escucha My new muse is light in his visits, is late, never calls, smiles his cheek, tells me nothing. So I invent everything. My new muse wears white-soled trainers and a St. Christopher tucked against the tattoo, never seen in full. When the night begins, the muse’s t-shirt smells of clean laundry. My new muse

In the ocean one night

I try to revive a blue whale with raw eggs from plastic bowls in different colours laid out in a wooden fishing boat. To do this you must put two or three eggs together in each bowl, watch their yolks lilt to the tide, then pour them through the whale’s sieve-like mouth. — This poem

A little bird revisits

“The hummingbird stands for love” remains one of my favourite poems. In this Vermeer-style scene, I see a young woman at the window of a Dutch interior. She is bathed in light. In my version, she holds open a book or a letter, but gazes at the window. The opulent curtains and tasteful furnishings draw my eye.