because when you live on this island you follow the direction of the wind looking for the first stories and what you want to leave behind: fragile traces the velvet escaping from the words nothing that makes noise
in the morning light its roots hold up the fragments of the earth: majesty of the tree *category inspired by Emily Dickinson "the simple news that Nature told"
I swear to you ! when I got to this tree, I could feel the air moving slowly, as if it had hips, so that the beauty of the branches would remain undisturbed and could spread out in an honest way, as they had since the beginning of time.
we would be extremely cautious, in the face of fait accompli, let’s be honest and say nothing grave or true. Clenching our teeth would be totally fine.
They will come back, eventually,
in the order expected
by my disorderly thoughts
or all scattered
on scraps of paper
to avoid me spelling
verbs like tarnish
or names like vertigo