Sentencings

Sentencings

Sentencings

A thing too perfect to be remembered:
stone beautiful only when wet.

*      *      *

Blinded by light or black cloth—
so many ways
not to see others suffer.

*      *      *

Too much longing:

it separates us
like scent from bread,
rust from iron.

*      *      *

From very far or very close—
the most resolute folds of the mountain are gentle.

*      *      *

As if putting arms into woolen coat sleeves,
we listen to the murmuring dead.

*      *      *

Any point of a circle is its start:
desire forgoing fulfillment to go on desiring.

*      *      *

In a room in which nothing
has happened,
sweet-scented tobacco.

*      *      *

The very old, hands curling into themselves, remember their parents.

*      *      *

Think assailable thoughts, or be lonely.