You, who are all
the gardens I've ever looked upon,
full of promise. An open window
in a country house, and you almost stepped
towards me, thoughtfully. Sidestreets I happened upon,
you had just passed through them,
and sometimes, in the small shops of sellers, the mirrors
were still dizzy with you and gave back, frightened,
my too sudden form. Who is to say if the same
bird did not resound through us both
yesterday, separate, in the evening?
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