In the sureness of time passing
In the sureness of time passing
I hear a sound. It is a bottle tied by twine rolling against a fence,
where I had put my mouth against the skin of a camellia bud, not long
before.
It rings. Light shines from its blue skin.
If I had not loved
If I had not given space
If I had not that.
Alone. At any given moment, alone.
At any given moment in speaking the language, alone.
At any given moment, you have
to err, to stretch one's neck against one's wrist, to sob. To hear.
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