my life

exquisite.

like dream of an infant,

leading to smile and tiny chuckles.
will I or anyone remember it.

bitumen

At the end of the day,
add sadness,
like bitumen
to the lungs of the tiny birds
fighting to stay afloat.

Or a child
crying over the body of his father
asking not to be left
to stand alone

(in Syria)

life

casts intricate nets and works out delicate connections

harvest

some harvest the day
some the time

dig

deeper into our stinking civilization
reach nail by nail to the bottom
grab it there by the neck
and ask.