også en slags krop...

Bronkietræet

Bronkietræet  hælder faretruende
udover vandfaldets brus.
Små hænder famler febrilsk
efter fæste.

En spirende ærteblomst i lungens væv
søger mod svælgets lys
og kirsebærrøde læber
kysser møl.

Mens tømmeren
banker hvide planker
til pigens endelige æske
falder slush-ice pink bronkiebær fra træet
bortflyder med floden
til Intet-havet.

tørvind

De tørblæste knogler synger i vinden
under træet - under solen
gløder bjerget.

Lovers apart...

tegning

thieving
each other's deeds
can’t he see
then he danced
with a bear
they always will
meanwhile all
the tiny black
horses are running
wild
at the Pampas
he lost
his soul – ever
since he has been
searching
while the rest
of the men
went camping.

-  Bruce Chatwin, considered.

det afstumpede væsen

once it was a rose

it has become
the red tulips dance
with us flattering ourself
in the garden of music
together - are we
were we - together
drawing the past in the eyes of
our beloved
whilst everything turned yellow
in the ears of the monkey
did we press our fists into
the eyes of the kids
yet the green tune from the bass
reached for a hopeful tomorrow
united we can - can we

- i'll be there