Sunrise at the octagonal hut; beyond, where two decks meet, a lizard does pushups in the sun. I see the green, chattering world through the window, I see my image in the window. Both are present; are both true? A bee enters the hut, buzzes insistently against the window, but the window won’t yield to…
The good news they do not print. The good news we do print. We have a special edition every moment, and we need you to read it. The good news is that you are alive, that the linden tree is still there, standing firm in the harsh winter. The good news is that you have…
Above the mountains the geese turn into the light again painting their black silhouettes on an open sky. Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that first, bright and indescribable wedge of freedom in…