Poem: “Cautiously”

unhurriedly You walk
not to have the soil
blowing its top
seem a sleep-walker who lost his sleep
a hairnet in the sea
nothing but a prophet
stuck in his snowy hermitage
yet you twinkle like an anvil
scrape the wind of your own steps
in small cups of coffe, perhaps
you found the drool of your annoyance
I crumble in stolen time
in my marzipan quicksand

I do decide
how to drift

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