Bedsheets
This intimate night is dear to the silver of moon-spill on bedsheets, to the manners of starlight to perfume of sensitive skin; this intimate night has been gifted to us […]
Category Archives: Real Toads
Almost like crying
Lacklusterly l linger, slowly skyward gazing trying to find shapes of dreams I’ve lost or just a little depth in the gormless grayness of these listless clouds. I read the […]
Still life with leftovers
Monday mourning — grey and mostly mundane I’m drowning, breath- less breathing; gathering my words and gardening the weeds, and sun is lost to leftovers for dinner. A short poem […]
In the ruins of the last library
Afterwards when all went silent; after words turned ash, the last remaining pillar fell and mortar crumbled into dust, the aged librarian mumbled verses from his dying books turned skyward, […]
Winter-spring
We went up early to catch a bit of ice before it melts; skating wasn’t great, but we felt free when we turned back home to sail with the wind. […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 