[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.