Apache tears
Must bee seen
The crawling blade
That we believed to be the sea
Those bodies that were believed to feel
Untie their incredible prehistories
Like the water on dumb temple pilots
Inner excavation opens a garden of stones
They consent to silence
To the immobility of the leaves before the storm
For a wing to unfold in the light of aging
The bird in a metal flight
Comes like the rain through the observable
I am free cried the bird from love gripped
Just take what is alive
I will burn the stone
The wind mistaken wheat
Silence doesn’t disunite
His flesh in words of core aims and bends
Our intimate orchards
The line takes off
Cutting edges
Of the white hole in the gesture
No door for departure
Use only the faithful and naked Coal
I remember a lovely July
The pure echo of demolished walls
A foot, a wing in Buci
I remember my voice lost in other vocals
And Guillevic
I remember the thickness of things
The hand that holds
The blue abyss
Inks
We will go for tomorrow
Full of doubts and wheat
I wait as only shadow could
Surrounded by the sun
Look for a meaning to eclipses
Forget my decipherable shadow
Let only my stone bear down
No voice left to bend the other voices
My real world is silent
In the unexplored retread of me
Rises a metamorphic seed
The stone
And it birds weigh
There is a story that is told
Then the waves, the stunning waves
I have for her the obvious
Dead shoes
Unknown caramels
And perfumes from Edo
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