opens its own ray of vision

a sharp mute angle

spring sunshine squints

after the rain

the second shower of the morning

no wind no thunder

the cordon of the blockade is tight

on the neck of the town

two storks left the treetops to walk the street

sadness was not present

only the glorious morning

I pour time into a glass of wine to

say goodbye to the dead

what’s big deal

the temporary respite

in the world that is no longer human

why is the loss tortured

with topical verses

a smeared white stork

is rummaging

french fries in the trash…

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