june 3, 2019

Today he would have been 36. Three dozen years on this earth, under this sun. Who knows how life would have turned out, what his story would have been. We, who loved him, still do, I’m sure of it. We measure the time by his death: before he died, the year he died, after he […]

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Puķe ugunī

Un. Rasas piles krājas Gar grīšļu asajām lapām. Rītavējš Saliek smiltis, kur pēdas Pa graudiņam vien Izdziest. Apaļais dimants Notrīs Un izlejas zemē. Zib varavīksne, Un ēnas aizdejo tālāk. Noglāsti šauro Zaļumu pirkstiem, Asins un ūdens, Abi tiek zemei. Vējš ēnas vairo, Lapu maliņās iegriezdams Vēl vienu pavasari.

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mazas baltas gaismiņas*

Kārklu pelēkie zari audzē sīkas baltas gaismiņas miklā muklāju miglā pīles skrien prīkšķēdamas. Nav tā, ka dienās un arī naktīs ir vieglāk; nāk mēneši balti, nāk logā asi izgriezti putni; kļavās būvējas žagatu pāŗi – jau trešie mūsu rajonā. Ko viņas zags, kad atnāks mazie, un saule spēlēsies siltos staros? Migla daudz biežāk aizdūmo jumtus […]

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a star unrepentant

a pale star through the benighted branches blurred by lack of glasses i breathe four point three below zero and blink out of order where the crows sleep secretly black shadows on black, their dreams contagious, simple, crawling with edible garbage in plenty more steps over the brittle dead leaves smell like so many autumns […]

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melodious monday

for whatever reason, this crept to the surface of my mind, maddened by metaphors (and the rest of the stylistic analysis nomenclature): the sound is a little tinny, but the spirit is captured perfectly.

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