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trying somehow
to put together a set of words to describe
the sensations
of floating

the sounds of tree, of water
and of hand and paddle

the sweet flow of movement
never quite straight
never quite random

a sense of direction
and a path guided by curiosity

(a what if, a where, where-from, where-to)

just looking at the treeline and asking
where is this sound coming from?

(a distant hope of seeing a beaver
knowing that this is beaver territory

or a hopeless attempt at seeing black grouse
performing their mating rituals in the evening)

finding it hard to put into words
the smallest of things
the beauties that
might not even be worth making into a poem
but which make living such a worthwile thing

being here
in the fragile sounds
of an almost silence
(but never quite).

sunset things

yesterday, at sunset
I somehow forgot the names of things

but it wasn't scary
because I still had


of moving
of dancing

of small, almost-nothing moments
of an early morning
lips touching (tenuto)

and you
so gently on me

and suddenly, all I want
is to slide my face in yours
you to pull my hair just a bit too much

and smile, as we delay a kiss

and -for a moment-

to forget
the names of things

fast-forward to here

whispering caresses
in blackbirdsong, sunsetpink
and smellofwet

now then, here -
life is too big a word


the haiku-

of just nothing of
a moment

this spring morning

and this one

and this one.

early spring

sunrise, a few clouds -
a beautiful spring morning
to look at the snow!

opening and closing

to unravel the kisses of life

one lover at a time

(a universe talented
at teasing)

friday evening

a lover
humming the beginning of a song
its words perfectly irremembered -

what a waste of a moment
to think about love.


fresh snow on pine trees
nothing but a late birdsong -
mid-winter calmness

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