In a day of sun and cold
we went there, was
morning. She slept on the chair
nervous and I, went in and out.
Life
life was dying, right in
while
the days get longer and the mimosas bloomed
then swallows would return.
I was sad, who knows,
impotent secure. As I contemplated
spectrum
the many flowers in the garden;
the point of death,
life is renewed.
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