The first rain drifts along the streets of the wood, far away, the woodmen. In another street that I did not enter, I was sitting in a garden-free, non-attic apartment block.
In other streets, interest to other people, knot knot had been in my throat. Every time I photographed the child with my heart, autumn smelling.
I came out of the shore,
I'm walking to the heat.
Hands to touch your face;
I love you into your ear, with my voice, with my breath,
I'm coming to my heart forever.
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