a man cannot say about
what he sees , sometimes, he merely
gazes at it, and then
either he stays or leaves,
he touches the hand of the wind
and does not tell you
what he feels, his mouth is dry
and his hair follows where the wind goes
he keeps a lot of somethings inside,
one that makes
him feel a stone
nothing drips, nothing flowing
steady as a post
without light
during the night, without fear
he expels shame
and then he goes back
takes that.... something
and does not say
at all anything
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