I fell, giving the arm, at least one million stairs
and now that you're not there is a vacuum at each step. Even so it was short
our long journey. My
still lasts no more I need
connections, reservations,
traps, the scorn of those who believe that reality
is the one you see.
I dropped millions of stairs giving arm
-face with perhaps not because it sees more.
With you I've got because I knew both of us the only true
pupils, though so blurred,
were yours.
-F-
0 comments:
Post a Comment