memory II

I ask myself
whether I should do penance
to win another favour

but I keep telling myself
it will never be the same again it will never
be the same again it
will never
be
the same

this is my mantra now
my tapas

looking at a black bangle on my wrist
I remember the vow I made

it will never be the same again it will never

be the same again it 

will never

be

the same

I close my eyes
to see yours
my ears grope for your voice

and I fear the goddess's wrath

sweetness

now sleep came
and the clouds are floating across the window
over your face
veiled by the sky
your ivory face, how pale you are
asleep now

are you dreaming
now that you let go of what you were holding on to
is your mind letting go too
is it wandering with the clouds passing over your face
over the glass of the window

do you notice the clouds passing? –
do you know you are just a cloud passing

and sunshine in my heart

a woman´s work

it is good to be hanging up the washing

your clothes
my clothes
babies´ clothes

bodiless
referents to our selves
reality is the cool wet cloth between my fingers
a pair of jeans, single socks, the skirt bought in –
this is who I am

it is good to be hanging up the washing

memory

it was as if
the gods had granted me a boon
and we were
taken to a realm of magic

and then the time was up

yet the magic lingers
somewhere
in longing

with sadness
I wonder
if we will ever meet again

may the gods be gracious

bathing in gold
my face and
the leaves

flying kites into
blue skies

letting go

floating
away

empty house

an empty house
waiting silently
at the intersection of
time past
and future

plans promises and dreams
a few scattered remains (past)
day night rain sunlight
scarcely touching (now)

an empty house
waiting silently
for life
to enter

promise

I wrote this on a train journey last month. More of a passing cloud than a poem.

promise

bare trees promise
blue sky
green