"august"

"Whatever is silenced will clamour to be heard,

though silently."

― Margaret Atwood

"summer bouquet"

"wake awaiting"

"autumn in the window"

"thirst"

For you, Dad!

"love [s]pace"

"Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long 

for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, 

time is eternity."

― Henry Van Dyke

fall-[in'] prints

"red leaf"

of all the colourful leaves on the ground a young couple fell in love 

with precisely this one, eagerly took it with them right after I had a single shot, 

and not before kindly asking if I would be keeping it, to myself. "of course, not," 

was my answer, "eternity has it now." the earth blushing. I smile.

eternity bound

innate blind 

eyes wide shut

an un-fathomable love pass-

age footsteps fresh in the dust

a room with no exit

I enter, and stay

[mind] frame

"The answers have been all used up.

Perhaps they never existed

and were only mirrors

 face to face with emptiness"

— Roberto Juarroz

At the old table

At the root

I acquire Grandmother's eye-

glasses wrapped in a handkerchief
place them on the old
kitchen table, watch them gaze 

at what she might have seen last

(with) her heart weakening

a wavering light abruptly quenched

some thirty years ago ―

through an open-wide window
a black bird in flight

a bare upside-down tree

planted in heaven by winter

dreaming of spring

to invert /

Figs

(to my Grandfather)

One by one, seeds between my teeth

a handful of sapid figs straight from the tree —

melliferous drops sticking to my fingers

burning my lips, nature's goodness

biting my tongue —
.

Thank you, Grandfather!
Seldom are the things
you left behind, mostly rubbish

piling in the barn — rusted century-
old farming tools, twisted metal, warped wood
under decades of black dust) barren fields
once lavish-green, bent heavy with crop
tirelessly worked from dawn to dusk —
these are not
what have you remembered daily, but the promised
house you built from the ground —
a beating heart-h for the lives of others to happen
the laughs, the sorrows, the many
fruit-bearing trees you planted —

apples cherries pears plums

vines laden with clusters of crazy-sweet pearls
that one fig tree in the corner by the fence

reminds me of you, Grandpa, with fondness
as I pick a fig, fill my palm with season's ripeness
taste the heavens in my mouth, at the root
today tomorrow
each day at harvest I bow to you
and say: Thank you!
.
(and to myself: It's time. You must start planting.)

Well-nigh th[r]ee

Linear woolgathering

This Road, My Road

_ _ _

July's Blue Moon

Some things may have a chance of happening once in a life time ―

perhaps at the sacred hour of a Blue Moon rising. 

Time is an abyss

At year's end

A year a month a day

a couple of hours [late]

three autumns

four seasons in sequence of non-

rudimental convictions.

Month in a week

day long[ed] hours dreadfully missed;

time still the only way

to gauge existence here

against the unsurmountable

notion of absence.

A year a month a day —

what kind of a difference make?

If any, or more.

Autumn in the city

_ _ _