All touch a placing; thinking phenomena;
a river whispering, to thrash out security.
A large quiet, an auditory lucidity,
surrounded by sorrow: hum and tongue.
You feel unwilling, trailed by publicity,
following advertisements, a cortege.
You think perhaps that love might be
when Eurydice left behind
one of two minds
false doors each way
Touch to take up her quietness.
Amuse me.
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