What Happened with Clare

to Clare B.

Clare didn’t wear
green trousers anymore.
It was a kind of winter
so she decided
other colours were
better suited for her there,
as she sat on the cross.

Her face had lots of
squares and dots and lines on it.
I remember at one point
some glue.
Her face had music.

Clare didn’t say much but
I noticed how she put down
the empty cup
and replied ‘well, good bye then!’.

Her giggle melted in a slice of bread,
flowing over a blank canvas.


Photo: Maria Butunoi


My Definition of You

(‘Spiegel im Spiegel’)

Let’s say I promise to keep talking
Until the very end and
Look properly at every single road on the map
So none of you gets lost in town in the dark.
My voice will memorise the way back
My pen will noisily follow the thin line
Between the frozen bird and the white stone.

I don’t have beautiful hands but
Apply with confidence for the job.
There is always a need for a poet
Without previous experience
As in terms of poetry
History is worse than death.

My bright future will spare the land
Beautiful poisonous tears.

I am not a blood stain that speaks
But a breath which unfolds
Another version of the truth
The one that matters before the big freeze.

My definition of you will always
Stop the bullet midair.
The well in which I was born
Is the mirror in which we all look.