Poetry is a space of possibilities.
how this unspeakable sadness sank into an old Gaelic tune with an unpronounceable nameplayed by a young string quartet
I want the snow to cover all the paths takenthe straight and the winding ones.
let us love like the treesthe sky, the winds
Edward Hopper only got as far as Passauthere he was swallowed up by a giant screen.I too have been trapped in it ever since.
what if? when I no longer have to be good and no longer have to repent