In the deepest quarry, the darkest cavity
Of mine, I feel your wind over the leaves
Of my hand, that separate into whorls
Without flowers, without any ending
Or any beginning that memories will find
Or that any seed will fall from
Onto this damp rotting earth
In the drawn-out seconds, this emptying hour
That divests itself shamelessly, I draw in the air
That descends, towards other universes
Wandering beneath the passage of things
Under great blossoming hearts
That flower in an instance
In natures fearful face
Where sunflowers once talked
Incessantly, smiling
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