“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” – Carl Sandburg

Apple Tree black and white

Everything I say is a lie

All of this a lie, because you can’t remember the apple tree,
so it was never there, and I was never there, and
and I am just like my father, a liar who remembers things
that never happened, never were, in those spans of years

Diamond matches

De Terre

The birds (of paradise) are chittering
which seems insufficient
for a poem, because it does not match
the intensity—or is it pain?—