1654
5.193
12.vii.24
seed
aubade
we cling
a little wrestle up
the dark street, royal road
wilderness thereof
then left
a little of the nightmare weight
the present present to us too
tiny corner I call
there’s no such person
never will be, was
even a mountain’s saluting the sun
first light’s a question thrown
just a little colour shows
the perfect shapes of sleep
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