Writer Between Worlds

Soulful writing about humans and places

Category: Natură

Heat

this smothering. this incandescence. this slowing down of industry. this blistering disintegration into idle particles – placid, primordial, like the silence, pierced only by the terrified barking of the lone dog desperate to sound brave. this viscous, heavy blinding doubling down on your shoulders. this begging for a breeze, the impossibility of shade and the…
Read more: Heat
Membrane

today I’d like to be a poet – nothing more. slow, silent, wistful – pure organic membrane wrapped around this cosmos built from rock and cold. lonely pulsating membrane through which the unseen ripples.
Read more: Membrane
Night sky (haiku)

nothing means anything but the night sky, all those dead stars still glinting.
Read more: Night sky (haiku)
Corsica 2026

I returned to Corsica after 21 years, the same way a grown woman revisits her first love trying to understand what might have been and what she missed back then.Corsica outside the tourist season is the kind of rough gem you explore at the pace of your own breath. It is a proud mare no…
Read more: Corsica 2026
Abandon

We had roots. Our roots had roots. Our roots’ roots had roots, but then fall came and our leaves began to fall, one by one to the ground, crackling dry. And in the soil they made we were rooted. But the light called to our children and to our children’s children. They clambered to the…
Read more: Abandon
Anotimpul tăcerii

Septembrie. Băncile tac. Cu ochii ațintiți înainte, oamenii au evadat din birouri și iau prânzul în parc. Răsfirat pe alei, pietrișul e alb. Inflorescențe întârziate îneacă cerul în parfum dulceag. Verdele frunzelor a obosit, a devenit întunecat, îmbibat de prea multe amurguri. Pauza de prânz.Mâinile caută guridoritoare de hrană.Gurile mestecă reflex. Privirile au rămas atârnate…
Read more: Anotimpul tăcerii
Toamna (haiku)

Înflăcărarea se stinge în râuri moi de pace mută.
Read more: Toamna (haiku)
No photos

Crows on a dying treetop, scattered on its bare branches before taking flight. Crickets in grass, loud, and reeds slowly slanting below blue mountains, crimson suns and clouds like cotton of the purest white. I take no photos and no hostages from this: I simply watch how the marvels explode on an organic retina that…
Read more: No photos
Și de sus ninge cu pene

Fă-mă arbore, îi șoptesc nucului, cu trupul cald lipit de trunchiul lui rece și aspru, să întind brațe interminabile către cer, din care să îmi crească alte brațe și tot așa, să adun cu ele lumina – mai multă! mai multă! – să mă hrănesc cu ea, să văd de sus lumea cum treceprin timp…
Read more: Și de sus ninge cu pene
On Leaving My Walled Garden

I hugged each tree trunk one by one, caressed each stalk, each stem, each textured leaf, each evanescent petal that now is a fresh-scented pink and by dawn, sallow, already reeks of wilted tissue and, with eyes closed,I breathed. I breathed and I touched. I mapped bark creases and crevasses, patterns of smoothness and ridges,…
Read more: On Leaving My Walled Garden
Wild geese (haiku)

the sky stitched up by southward wings, its low-hanging belly exhaling.
Read more: Wild geese (haiku)
As mourning follows night*

back home I sleep with my ears unplugged the windows flung wide open into the guzzling night I remain watchful here, in the places my people have – one by one –trickled into the fatty earth I dive into the holes they left – deep dark enticing pools of fresh darkness – I eavesdrop: the…
Read more: As mourning follows night*