The queen eats breakfast by herself
The queen on number twenty one Dragon Hill is neither sorceress, nor saint, but open arteries of sanguine geraniums adorn her third floor balcony and her front door is painted […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Listen to the leaves
The voice is not from color of the leaves but from the lush words they utter, in the glossy sentences they form from rain and summer, the green syllables they […]
The last fly of summer
In the stillness afterwards they saw a sea between them growing, listening to a drowsy fly — bouncing against the window pane. He opened up the window to let a […]
Moses
Moses, kitten, cat of cats, white-sock tabby mountain walker, friend and pillow, suburban shadow willing to be leashed. He stayed with us a summer nineteen seventy six his death will […]
I beg you mercy, moon
Why your fury, sickle-moon? Why sending steel & not spill silver? make good as once it was Why your ruthless voice, dear moon? I beg you mercy, pledge […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 