The Poet’s Tears

January 21, 2019

One baroque poet said:
The words are
The eyes’ tongues
But what is a poem
If not
A telescope of desire
Focused by language?
The sinuous flight of the birds
The tall waves of the sea
The lull of the wind:
Everything fits into words
And the poet who sees
Weeps tears of ink

Ana Hatherly
Trans. Ana Hudson

Watch the sparrows

January 21, 2019

Watch the sparrows feeding on breadcrumbs
In the snow
Before the cat lunges and leaps
And they fly for a slate grey

Andrew Peters


Our kiss is a secret handshake, a password.
We love like spies, like bruised prize fighters,
Like children building tree houses.
Our love is serious business.

One look from you and my spine reincarnates as kite string.

When I hesitate to hold your hand,
it is because to know is to be responsible for knowing.


There is no clean way to enter
the heavy machinery of the heart.

Just jagged cutthroat questions.
Just the glitter and blood production.


The truth is this:
My love for you is the only empire
I will ever build.

When it falls,
as all empires do,
my career in empire building will be over.

I will retreat to an island.
I will dabble in the vacation-hut industry.
I will skulk about the private libraries and public parks.

I will fold the clean clothes.
I will wash the dishes.
I will never again dream of having the whole world.

Mindy Nettifee