C O L L A B O R A T I O N  ( 1 )

intro | poet index 

Letter to a lost friend

One hundred years from now
inside your self-portrait

How the rain falls
on empty houses

One hundred years from now,
to lift the frail child reckoning

how laughter sounds
like a letter to a lost friend…

Ideograms are children
chasing leaves

The currency of cut-down autumn.
The red shout of your laughter