there is somebody
behind,next, before,
inside and sitting
near: it is me.
and wherever i walk
we go, all together,
one who is present
and one who thinks.
i am tired
with these dreams
of my love, of me,
of Dante's, Goya's.
i feel worn out
by hard water,
and seeking gold
i was poisoned
by mercury, by
the acid of greed,
by desperate trial.
but from inside
where love is alive
i know how to go,
in spite of, breaking
through me, out
with wings of
other dreams
rising like doves
from the shadow of trees.
there is somebody
next to me, he sits,
and i let him sit
and walk on my own.
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