why, Leben? And after that,
it snowed
translucent middle night
the margins of the page
absorb color,
icicle snow | fantasize that
clarity
it's the construction of the battlefield,
too | in all the elsewhere
guilt, the palpable emotion
the child |is| the revolutionary spectator
above all, this is what
being |a parent|
implies, and yet, we close it off
there are "real, active men" out there
setting out
lost in all the drifts
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