Birgit Bunzel Linder Poems

Today we walked out of our dream
to sit on the brown bench again,
right across the bare white rocks
that soften the sea.
...

In the middle of every night,
the moon’s noise wakes me.
I hear water everywhere.
...

I, Too, Sing This Country

It wakes me every hour—
On a strict schedule
...

I read it like wine
I recite it like dance
I pirouette around stanzas
I exhale a caesura
...

We prepare for the cemetery when
dew has turned to rain to frost to hail.
At season’s infancy, they say.
Jittery trees line our cobbled streets,
...

When Mr Armstrong stepped
onto the moon, it was 1969.
That was also the year
when we mastered our deafness.
...

Titmice and sparrows flock for food at dusk
Farewells hang in the air like lanterns

Hoarfrost weaves over black bark
...

Twelve Taoist novices
Walk along the hillside road.

Twelve topknots popping up and down
...

Birds are beaded straight on the wire
They gaze into the brewing sky
Dragonflies dangle in the air
Above shadows that fall into feeble forms
...

The fifth hour wind wakens
sienna leaves for a twilight chat.
The sky applies white dust in layers.
The moon gleams pebble pink.
...