And we, still up there, still us / along the tireless paths of the wind / after the quakes, the rifts, after the journeys / after passage upon passage – earths on earths – / after the empty cyclical repetition / after the periodical births and the primordial / still here – slow waters of the lake –…
So many things you carry within yourself down the years: the triangle of sky you can see, the scent of hay rising from beyond the river, the bawling of the kids who’ve come here for the summer. Only there are fewer and fewer swallows now: they’ve grown too touchy to return to this particular yard. …
In this tireless animal hierarchy / how many get into a fight over the right / to be in top spot at the hour of the bowl? / Before these shining upright buildings / are finally infested with rats.…
