Zywa
The square is singing
I see the late and the early
people in lighted rooms
where the curtains are not closed
I see men in the twilight
penumbra of the morning
talking on the benches
in the circle of the square
that then starts singing
in the trees that live there
Everything keeps going on
from yesterday to tomorrow
but without beginning and end
There is not even a direction
everything goes by itself
its divine way
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