The rain

whispering of

home

Wanting to be

- this is the spot-

somewhere else

Silence

falling everywhere

between the drops

Teary eyed kids

ate all the cookies

after the funeral

Chained

by answers

my question

The sound
before we call it
rain

Autumn

now the autumn bouqet

has withered

Unmoved

by our clinging-

autumn leaf

Frost

on the plum tree

a low moon

The last leaf
blew off the old tree-
her empty hands

Frost

on the garden table-

a low moon

Gusts of wind

leafing through

the bushes

Pensioned off-

he folds the letter

into a plane

In the harbor

old ships and

a full moon

The moonlight

that stayed behind-

fog on the field

03.21

when I look again

04.53

Morning sun-

out from under the grape

I'm raking flames

All that remains

is to turn on the porch light-

storm night

The pond

recovered by

the moon

Exemplary

this slowness

of the moon

The Sunday

after the thunderstorm

quiet and light

Talking

in my sleep-

rain

The silence

lost in translation-

foreign jet

Night-
her breathing
fills me

Old pond gnome-

finally letting go

what flows by itself

This black stone

my companion

in the rain

Through the storm

and the thunder

the alarm clock

Her gaze

lifting

the moon

Raking leaves

from a pebbled path-

getting older

Where is the moon

when you need it-

a low branch