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2009-05-07 | |
the plane will get off the ground
and weâ€™ll sow fire in water
in the memory of the frozen magnolia,
all movement will turn round as in a dance,
afraid of the leap into the clouds.
I never forget people who lean on my heart
and dream of the naked bliss,
as little things surrounding you
tell the truth about a long travel and I know
more and more that I cannot cut the riddleâ€™s knots
without a floating sword, in a green corner.
a symphony of touch fills the garden
in which Iâ€™ve learned to call your name,
so simply, below the rolling sun.
the pain of the new-born is still there,
glowing over the table,
your smile is stretching the air,
longing for a tiny flute.
we cannot yet fly, but the paradise bird
is carrying our whisper
right to the huge leavesâ€™ tips.
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