Weather fields / freeze frame
draught up our sleeves from the side wind, tiredness suppressing
a few half words, we moved into the colder frost-air by the rear frontage
of a distant building, a couple among the houses, at night
Inventory of the world
travels? voices? (buzzing wires) - on landing you looked: heavenwards
in flight perhaps you belonged to the inventory of the world, in the child's
rain made for itself its sea and the sea its waves, clouds
swelled over the white spray of the sea - light tones -
and like dust on the tape track everything mixed in together
the voices, whispering, emerge from yesterday, from its
Moments of crystallization, flow with the day. Frost _ Inhale
again the dream collapses, overwhelmed from affections
inasmuch as the snow collects across dispersed, good days. As by
imprinting you pull yourself out from the earth, heavenly greetings
Picture Postcard to O.M.
I live within crumbling walls of medieval crudeness.
On the washing lines hang remnants of Slavic cloth.
No Hellenism warms me; the stoves here are fuelled
with low-grade coal; verily, ye horseshoe hangeth