We sit together and remember that time. When it was possible to think each other as geometric symbols in a system that we would never understand. I love you.
When angels arrive you will recognize them with their filthy mouths and their beautiful clothes. You'll recognize them because of the papers they're wearing. They won't try to be close to you. It's none of their business. Theirs is another vocation. You must be aware of that. It says they look like, but I can tell you that they have the bodies and the looks of the railway workers. Their hands are hardened by unnecessary toil. Their eyes keep scanning and they hear everything you say. You'd better believe it before the bells ring.
We'll climb up the hill. Bypass it. Maybe in a circle. Maybe not. Once upon a time there was a wall of sewing machines and bicycle wheels that protected us from a world that we did not wish to know. If it was knowable. This world we had won was more than enough.
In the library I took your books. One by one. Replace with the most beautiful rock. Day a day and sometimes during the night. Often. When you were going to pick up the trains, I'd set up a bookshelf and les them with rocks, stones, pebbles. They were my jewels. They still are.
In another time they would have told you to spread your wings.
When you had wings you didn't use them. We always unearth this earth. It was too late so early.
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