I remember poetry
And then I write it down
Before its loveliness can flee
Back to thoughts clouding up the sky
Or prose lost in the stretched muddy ground.
I remember poetry
Flying in pieces inside my head.
The universe may be a mystery;
I prefer the mystery of myself instead.
I remember poetry.
Look, reader! This is what I found!
Growing from granite, a tender tree,
Growing with a terrible sound.
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