Second Month Still, his presence in me remains unknown. Soon, soon. Dust accumulates upon the book shelves the window panes do not sparkle as before. First I must stretch my fallow limbs to seek in folds of flesh my lost dream. In its wake looms a fear of pain and the large golden cage which I will enter afterwards close the door. Third Month What I carry the sky bears too. In me are shadows of trees and flower hues, the smell of early and late tears in the glutted, glum bed the rain of winter in my girlhood room the sagacious sky sags. The good Lord plunked a fresh flower in my bosom. Fifth Month What's in me ripens…
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