5 may 2021
Thinking Off
The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.
Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.
How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?
The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.
Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.
7 january 2026
wiesiek
6 january 2026
wiesiek
5 january 2026
wiesiek
4 january 2026
Jaga
4 january 2026
wiesiek
3 january 2026
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2 january 2026
wiesiek
1 january 2026
wiesiek
31 december 2025
wiesiek
30 december 2025
Jaga