LIKE A DANDY OF LONDON DRESSED AS A SOLDIER OF LOVE IN SPRING

A grey heron near the Havel River in northeastern Germany

Friday

This ice is too thin to be a support. It has too many vents, holes, and sinuses. It is too eternal for those so homeless. Too remembered by silence and obligated Only to memory—no more and no less— Only to memory, where the stars were scarred And the unspoken words of snowflakes, Which once revealed our adulthood

This ice is too thin to be a support. It has too many vents, holes, and sinuses. It is too eternal for those so homeless. Too remembered by silence and obligated Only to memory—no more and no less— Only to memory, where the stars were scarred And the unspoken words of snowflakes, Which once revealed our adulthood

This ice is too thin to be a support. It has too many vents, holes, and sinuses. It is too eternal for those so homeless. Too remembered by silence and obligated Only to memory—no more and no less— Only to memory, where the stars were scarred And the unspoken words of snowflakes, Which once revealed our adulthood

This ice is too thin to be a support. It has too many vents, holes, and sinuses. It is too eternal for those so homeless. Too remembered by silence and obligated Only to memory—no more and no less— Only to memory, where the stars were scarred And the unspoken words of snowflakes, Which once revealed our adulthood

I long for the wind and the creaking of oarlocks, Yellow water lilies hidden in the sun. That which basks so in this pond, Holds a leisurely boat in its palms. I long for butterflies—not mayflies: Eternal moments, fluttering nearby

I long for the wind and the creaking of oarlocks, Yellow water lilies hidden in the sun. That which basks so in this pond, Holds a leisurely boat in its palms. I long for butterflies—not mayflies: Eternal moments, fluttering nearby

I long for the wind and the creaking of oarlocks, Yellow water lilies hidden in the sun. That which basks so in this pond, Holds a leisurely boat in its palms. I long for butterflies—not mayflies: Eternal moments, fluttering nearby

Through the signs of touch and the echo of communions To what happened to remain forever… The last seagull circles like a tea leaf And freezes in the silence of your skies. And the sun and summer are revealed again Beyond the limits of possibility - to remember all this.

Through the signs of touch and the echo of communions To what happened to remain forever… The last seagull circles like a tea leaf And freezes in the silence of your skies. And the sun and summer are revealed again Beyond the limits of possibility - to remember all this.

Through the signs of touch and the echo of communions To what happened to remain forever… The last seagull circles like a tea leaf And freezes in the silence of your skies. And the sun and summer are revealed again Beyond the limits of possibility - to remember all this.

Through the signs of touch and the echo of communions To what happened to remain forever… The last seagull circles like a tea leaf And freezes in the silence of your skies. And the sun and summer are revealed again Beyond the limits of possibility - to remember all this.

Beyond reality every morning, Where I wake up in a forgotten summer, Where the rising sun still slowly and wisely marks its scorch marks. Where your breath is weightless, And every pose of love is unreliable, But throughout the summer, again and again, I reach out like plantain, along a false path.

Beyond reality every morning, Where I wake up in a forgotten summer, Where the rising sun still slowly and wisely marks its scorch marks. Where your breath is weightless, And every pose of love is unreliable, But throughout the summer, again and again, I reach out like plantain, along a false path.

The sound flies and melts like a fiery exhalation. To the right, the steps, as usual, lead only upward. A summer maple leaf in our hands… eternity, acknowledging no answer. Endless summer… laughter floating within us