Falling deeper and deeper 

Into the black silence;

Counting the stars -

Milestones of loss,

Constellations of mourning…

Never-ending fall,

Mysterious gravity

Of a dying star

Struggling somewhere

On the edge of the galaxy of pain…

I close my eyes and imagine

My true face in the soul’s mirror:

I see a gentle animal,


Resigned to its fate.

the corridor of waiting

we navigate the labyrinth of illusions with great care -
it seems that someone up there is constantly
shifting, re-arranging its dimly lit corridors,

perhaps even modifying the blueprints;
we wait.

We summon images of a passage to a dreamless winter

We imagine an impossible love

Or practice ways of unravelling old mysteries

And gaining a measure of clarity…

we hope to find the way out;
but aren’t hope and waiting part of the maze?

Isn’t the quest just the universe

deceiving itself?


mending the tear -

bridging the gaping abyss -
putting together what’s been
pulled apart -
the ripping sound
some kind of music -
emancipation of dissonance -
the tear itself
turning into a spiral -
perhaps the beginning
of a wing -

or the tip of 

continent hope.

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