but at near two in the night it was too late,
even here. so, i packed most of my luggage:
tomorrow can be beach day.
before i sleep a glass of wine, a poem.
in silence
i see the night
shimmering,
i listen
to the scent
and all is
as it is,
each moment
follows all
not time flows
but all moves
and changes
in the garden
and in the waste land,
no rose remains
in flower,
no stone on the other
i play with pebbles
in my mind
they sink
and i will sleep
good night,
from 0 to ~
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