in stagnant heat
pre-season football
forever buffering

Luck; to live on a day like today.

Last weekend, in Sammatti:

at the smoking fire
the wine in my tin cup
warms up, oxbloods

Friday evening –
the sound of my ankle
letting go concrete

On the sadness of keyboards:

the vacation over –
in her room, in mine
raindrops mechanical

the cows, asleep
like trees struck down
by sharp noon heat

yesterday, yes –
in all my clothes,
old birch smoke

afternoon rain –
fingers green with ink
mumbling the blues

Local bus stop. Everyone in my old home town drives a car, except for me. I would have it no other way.

arms against talk –
the punch line cut short
by a drum fill

from the wall,
an off-key note
comes back to haunt

Apple leaves, as seen from the hammock. The first week of my vacation went by blindingly fast.

emerge from a dream
to an empty house –
the hum of rain

at the lake
the sound of children
living as stones

rain,
the magpie speaks
and rain it is!

evening:
calloused fingers fretting
birdsong only

my work finished
an aeroplane brush-stroke slowly dissolving

walker’s bliss –
the forest swallows
distant car-wails

in the evening sun
the guitar strings become
candles of their own

on the balcony
a spider sketching
the courtyard elm

through the pub window
sky in imitation
of a car, stalling