I now see it as empty glass
Filled with bouquets of errors
leaves and seed reflect and burn
In the scotchy rays of distant times
When we all gathered together
I could still see among the chaos
The perfect image of the white boat
That sailed on our shoulders
Time clothed in the thickness of flesh
No mind can imagine –
Not even mine on a weightless scale
That it is not there
I see both edges, and curves
It writes with every ray of thought
Like the pain engraved, the fact
That every man becomes transparent space


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