between the vicissitudes of ideas a dry landscape is laid out
-and my sense of scarcity unfolds -i realize that desolate place
this is why there is so much -longing- and as with many others
the rocks are hard to face up-
with their hard silences on either side
sitting in a dry riverbank without water to flow over them
the rocks could sing a simple melody
-but without the gentle flow
there is only stony silence
-and that abyss steals my question
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