opens up again.
Why you did not know,
how to stop, in the blue night,
under the shadow of
of the naked form;
the size, the shape,
unsettles the script, the committed
dogma. Why you were still
unvisible, O glory?
of the beliefs.
Life becomes a peddeler.
I don’t want to go to any bazaar
now. A poem is good enough
to move on.
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