on the esplanade of encounters
ties are woven very tightly,
ties of every color, every shape, all sorts,
and some will rust but nonetheless will last
and some will be upside down or take up too much space
all sorts of ties on the esplanade of encounters 
the light is passing by
the shadows are changing
the sun is going down
voices are whispering
something true
(or else it is a dream)
*posted for the first time in April 2020
the light is passing by
the shadows are changing
the sun is going down
voices are whispering
something true
(or else it is a dream)
*posted for the first time in April 2020
standing precariously
at the edge of the cliff
the thought of the fall,
or the possibility of it
of its aftermath,
and looking at the world today (and the dizziness)
*posted firstly in April 2020, reviewed in March 2021
The breeze hardly made
my arms cold
on that day
but in the middle of the slope
to catch my breath
took a snapshot of
small yellow flowers
(they hurt the mouths of sheep)
that clung to the sandy cliff
above the water 
in the mess of the rocky
beach, harmony of stones
signs of age
proud traces
of their travels
in the rivers
(but look no further than tomorrow)