Night covers the pond with its wing. Under the ringed moon I can make out your face swimming among minnows and the small echoing stars. In the night air the surface of the pond is metal. Within, your eyes are open. They contain a memory I recognize, as though we had been children together. Our ponies grazed on the hill, they were gray with white markings. Now they graze with the dead who wait like children under their granite breastplates, lucid and helpless: The hills are far away. They rise up blacker than childhood. What do you think of, lying so quietly by the water? When you look that way I want to touch you...

rhineland

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Do not forget me, I cried, when at last I reached him. Madam, he said, pointing to the tracks, surely you realize this is the end, the tracks do not go further. His words were harsh, and yet his eyes were kind; this encouraged me to press my case harder. But they go back, I said, and I remarked their sturdiness, as though they had many such returns ahead of them.
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2016-12-27 17:41:25 - мистер мира

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