To search for my beloved mistletoe, I pull out my winter clothes. This soon found me entering snow-covered mountain recesses where mistletoe lives clinging to the oaks, mulberries, and alders. Where only mistletoe remains lush…
Since your hands were cold, you slid them inside your pockets. Since snow was thickly falling, my hand slipped inside. Since your hands were in that dark place, I placed a single hand inside it…
From the clothesline hung on the drying rack, winter laundry which nobody managed to remove for several days stretches out. Before it could be dried, it froze and unfroze. Over rehardened clothing…
My whole life I never knew. Had it happened after she left? Those little eyes, why couldn’t they bear the tears and not let them flow? Those empty, contorted lips…
Snowflakes fall as quietly serene as a mother gazing at the child nursing at her breast. In that gaze—the sound of wind rushing past a whip…
For me to walk is to search for love. In the streets, I learned to gather and pack together sadness to fall asleep. And there I grew used to attaching wings to my longing as I walked…
If in the spring sun come to rest on a window we meet and gaze into each other’s eyes like two people, like one person, as the light builds its round house in pupils, in a look, in a tear…
I saw it when the plane landed. The shadow that was lost at 8,000 meters was found again as the plane taxied…