We thought we were the friendly
neighbors
We thought we were waving at us across a slope
What a quiet catechism in the violence
of roses
What a thin redemption to dwell in
these thorns
The desperate trees the savage grass O why
Were we so happy to glimpse those clandestine
Towers the secret minarets floating
over silent
Houses these mute desires tongues bleeding
For the cataclysm of flowers O there were dry
Lips whispering wounded canticles helplessly
The selves we
had yet to meet we who were just
Fine brooding
over books now and then looking
Up to smile at our own smiles months went by
Years
across the vast escarpment of our love
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