2050
6.223
11.viii.25
so much precious dust
working with reality
a curlup of covers
and the weather
all that is written till now
to here
low groan
a dripping sky
the parrots discover our mandarins
the mulberry is leafing up
was it simpler in a world before?
there were more trees
air had free passage
so many things to trip over now
small in doorways
shaking out
so much we have borrowed from death
and how a page shows through
one has to work with reality
neither confirm nor deny
under spell
and world embrace
straining against
tune in a moon as full
our struggle is such
bit straining tether end
to turn the grinding wheel
and thus
feel the failing of the light
keep on
keep going
however long
it won’t be long
I’ll make my precious dust
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