May 1, 2017

Sand starts at one thousand
Wide spells brushing
The flock of clouds above us
A spirit dream pulses
Through its diaphanous frontiers
Renewal is no secret migration
Its rumbly rhythm harpooned
Sharp at the back
Where the evening route prevails
And the murmur of underwater light
Collapses all of our desired presence
Into thin and listless abyss

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