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light has transpired me
with record needles
that read the air
and detect the inprints you left
poems write me out
accross a moment, a wall, a window,
songs sing me until i am emptied into the street, laughing,
the spring blossom has come
where are the goats when there is no mountain?
where are the notes when there is no song?
where is the house when there is no town, no plan?
wrapped up
inside