The sky is frosted green.
The night feels like that word:
Melancholy –
Restless searching lights
And the passionate silence.


Homesick Tears

I set out to re-conquer the remote islets
of my childhood
With no other guide than homesick tears.
It was like poaching happy memories
From a seagull’s empty nest
With wings obediently
Following the soft pull of the salty sea.

There is a sense of oldness in the air

There is a sense of oldness in the air,
As though it has been impregnated
With tenderness, delicacy and wisdom.
Ghostly peaks, partially hidden
By knitted webs of thinning wedding veils,
Worn out by generations of stone cold brides,
Remind us of old newness and peaceful departings.
Spring’s forest school alumni,
Ready to embark on their virgin flight,
Darken the air with insecure strong-born wings.
There is the sound of rain falling into lakes
And souls slipping into sunsets,
As though leaves were attached to their backs.
And mornings to come,
With night-trees feeding on shadows
To part ways with the sun.


Walking down a lonely road

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish time wasn’t walking along,
Seeing faces and places;
Reminders of home.

There is snow on the signposts,
Autumn’s clutter in the guts,
Beaten down tracks of
Asphalt and stone.

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish I wasn’t walking alone,
Seeing white-painted crossings
Faded and gone.

There are untouched skipping stones
In sea-washed harbors,
And crab traps left
To yellow and grow old.

I’m walking down a lonely road
Where possibilities’ shop
Has long since been closed,
Leaving only in its wake
Miles and miles of unclaimed love.


Rooted to each other

So this is how we stay
Rooted to each other
Like climbers
Unto a roof
That keeps slanting
Further and further
For each year
We grow apart.


Like an unwanted

Those little lanes
Keep haunting me
With their icy surfaces
Or sided with weeds.
I do not miss them, but
I am plucked out of them
Like an unwanted,
And for that I keep thinking
Myself back there
by yesterday’s
Long forgotten


The night’s watchful eyes

The night’s watchful eyes
shelter its young dreamers,
Resting where shadows fall
To form a quiet lee of melancholy.