This New Life

October 3, 2015 § Leave a comment

This new life.

But don’t forget.

Your song.


Of Lost Paradises

October 2, 2015 § Leave a comment

Abel and Cain.


Of lost paradises.



October 1, 2015 § Leave a comment

Autumn colours.

Sky cuts.



Wounds of light.


Meeting Point

September 30, 2015 § 1 Comment



Meeting point.


A Light Poem

September 29, 2015 § 2 Comments

Morning light in the woods.

Evening light in the city.

Last light before dusk.


Walking the Dog

September 10, 2015 § 2 Comments

When the days are long and busy I come back home unwilling to talk much. Sometimes after dinner, and before the days get too short and light escapes too soon, I make my rounds, a certain path, two-three blocks around my house. One of my cameras always accompanies me.


I’m the dog I walk myself, taking the same paths again and again, taking a pic at the same places. That has a relaxing and reassuring effect on me. I’ve taken this rounds in other cities too. For all cities are related to each other and offer the basics I need: the bridges…


… the construction sites,


… the local shops,


… the neighbourhood’s windows,


… and if I’m lucky enough, one or two wedding dresses stores…


Especially the latter have become a must to my meditation walks. And in my city I have the ones I go back to.

Oh, no, I’m not obsessed with marriage and it hasn’t been an unfulfilled wish to get married in a wedding dress, for I got married all the ways I wanted to. But I’m fascinated by these traditional, often kitsch, sometimes moving and….


… sometimes terribly scary windows.



And after I’ve marked all my corners, I finally return the dog home and wait for the┬ánight to fall.

(All photos from my evening walk earlier tonight.)

A Pile of Letters

September 6, 2015 § 2 Comments

My dear, the wee hours

have their own memory rules

I try hard to break.


My dear, all those eyes

looking outside, far away,

they think they can see.


My dear, no answers,

no places to go and rest.

Always in the crowd.


My dear, the mornings

keep coming like waves, breaking

on time’s waning shore.


My dear, this bird song,

the same promise every day,

ignores our time games.


My dear, the birds sing

for they’ve already yearned for

this light a whole night.


My dear, in that dream

there’d been enough room for us

if the light would wait.


My dear, after you’ve been

everywhere you’ll go there again

where everywhere is.


My dear, there are hours

that count themselves, in circles

of days with no names.


My dear, in the night

the world is full of people

who cannot forget.


My dear, we forget,

and everything is as if

from an other life.


My dear, the morning

arrived early before dreams

could find an ending.


My dear, on my skin

a story appeared written

by life. I’m reading.


My dear, people replace

valuable things when broken

but they know too well.


My dear, the mornings

have endless hours in their first

minutes of silence.


My dear, don’t listen

to what the night will whisper

to keep you awake.


My dear, there’s a whole

city built by such letters.

Most of us pass by.


My dear, there’s a wind

that knows our stories and when

it blows we listen.


My dear, the language

we now speak to others is

full of borrowed words.


My dear, last night I

dreamt of a pile of letters.

And then a wind came.


My dear, beautiful

sentences can build a wall

and lock us inside.


My dear, how do we

meet when not moving. Birds fly

even in their dreams.


My dear, we escape

our own hopes like big cities

are blind to the stars.


My dear, we can’t wait

even as we’re waiting for

our heart is moving.


My dear, I tried to write

to you from my island,

words sank on their way.

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