The quiet vibration of the hours,
when the body dreams
and awake thoughts tremble in the senses.
When truths are pettiness
they blow up loneliness. I'm thinking…
Man is born and dies alone.
After a lifetime of traveling
to each other – next to each other.
Only love remains alone.
On the stone in the tear.
And in the flight of a bird.
In the outstretched hand
at the moment of the warm pupil.
In the nuances of an unspoken verse.
In a dreamed unattainable peak.
And in the silence of the grass,
which will one day receive us
and we will blossom into a flower
for the nectar of bees.
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