Zywa
Roses and sweat
Under the table, no one
gets in the way with giant shoes
my world can exist there --
until dinner
the houses, roads and construction projects
with all the thoughts of the people
I can read and answer --
with new plans
In the summer there are tables in the garden
with clips on the long cloths
swaying in the light of the wind --
my tent after dinner
which was small and dark at first
full of adults' legs
but cheerful with their voices --
my other world
I stroke the dry grass
clear ways for the ants
and breathe the strange air --
of roses and sweat
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