“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Monday, February 3, 2020
Heft
Balance may never be explained
in a constant way.
Sentences have periods,
stories are many series of scenes
that never end.
When we insist on showing someone else,
the way it is, the way we see it
changes inevitably
somewhere between pointing and looking.
There is always more to see.
Obviously,
there is no way to stay
in equilibrium for an eternity.
At least we both must hold on
to something
that seems worth
mentioning.
Artwork by Édouard Vuillard (1868-1940) in the [Public domain].
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