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.
29 january 2026
wiesiek
28 january 2026
wiesiek
27 january 2026
wiesiek
26 january 2026
wiesiek
25 january 2026
wiesiek
24 january 2026
wiesiek
23 january 2026
Jaga
20 january 2026
Jaga
20 january 2026
wiesiek
19 january 2026
Jaga