In shadowtime I see the frailty and the persistence.

Dejà vu.
Dejà vu.

Not because anything comes back, but because a tree collapses like a bee,
collapses like a house.






A whole economy,
like the blue robes of a Flemish virgin.


Swoon.


Seeing is recognising that which we have seen before.
I name things twice; little pig, little pig.

The first is just to call something into being, the second one, to anchor it to time and space.

Shadowtime shadowtime.

I have been dead for so many years, I forgot my name.

As I type, a bird flies into my window pane with the force of things that want to live.

Little pig, little pig, let me come in.