With throats of glass we sang like swallows, shouldn't have tinkered with the moon.
And L. went with me to a poetry slam, it was quite lovely. I left with a quiver in my heart. One day I will stand behind the microphone, one day.

It has become better, with the remembering and the forgetting.
The star I was given sixteen months ago, at the bottom of a puddle.
Birds underwater, a little boy turned to ice, broken necks (and other bones).
And you have a golden leaf on your shoulder, can I brush it away?

Sens au cœur de la nuit

Don't get lost, never get lost

H. cooked apples tonight, they are still warm. Maybe the problem is that I love the idea of tragedy too much. The fog hung like clouds today.

P.S.: Please, please have a lovely eve.

Powder

A swift visit to Berlin (for museums and used bookstores).
Everywhere, ghosts. Hovering under the ceiling, trapped behind eyes.
And oh, the bones. Skeletons look so small.
One can't help but wonder.

I bought a little whale to keep in my bag, always. Hello, Hershel.