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.
4 november 2025
Jaga
3 november 2025
wiesiek
2 november 2025
absynt
2 november 2025
wiesiek
2 november 2025
ajw
1 november 2025
wiesiek
31 october 2025
Jaga
22 october 2025
Jaga
21 october 2025
Jaga
20 october 2025
ajw