Half winter, half spring

Tick tock

Tick tock... A life is passing.

 My life.

City of light

Trees

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree

The Raven

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Sunlight in the tunnel

Stone Stairs

April in Munich

Valleys of Clouds

Clouds over mountains

Will there really be a morning?

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Dark branches

White background

Evermore

Eros (Anteros), Piccadilly Circus





















Kounellis, Untitled 1979 (detail), Tate Modern

Nevermore

Autumn Leaves

Who has no house now, will build him one no more.
Who is alone now, long will so remain,
will wake, read, write long letters
and will in the avenues to and fro
restlessly wander, when the leaves are blowing.

Rain

forget the ink, the milk, the blood—
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters

and none of this, none of this matters.

This is a photograph of me

I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.

It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion

but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.

Rustling

Low and High

No color

Zirou Lake

Stairs to the Clouds