On wet grass

*On wet grass *



Coldness, the small knife splitting the bud,

the wink of the shears cutting the hedge. The

angel flattening its palm on grass, lifting its

hand to show the gorgeous cross-tangle of

morning, wet with predictions. The child’s

mouth opening, the poppyseeds swirling,

black wind-bound away from their red.



*On Anna Karenina *



How delicately we use the word *ruthless*.

The dancer wraps and unwraps this word

round her torso like silk. And Anna’s body

stretches onstage, neck tense, legs untender,

train shrieking up through her spine, steam

filling the throats of the audience.



*On unrequited love *



Pitiless line of white along the Scottish

lake. Man throwing the split twig to the

injured dog, the fissure in the water-rock.

Two schoolboys with dirt-stained faces

unbuttoning their uniforms. The smell of

used-up flesh climbing the birch tree.



*On Nagy Diófa utca *



The man with his cart sagging under plastic

bags filled with rain. His pillow-case. The

bookstore behind him, lit-up. The garden

deep inside where sleepy children comb

each other’s rain-wet hair.