the old women in the widowers’ streets
back to town they go
on the floor the thundering growth of flowers
and when they kiss …

turn the keys in the thin silvering doors of the day
while creeping cats are waiting
waiting with their tummy on the flower-thundering floor
creeping slowly lowly back to the dark walles of the night

but when they kiss …
there is night nor day
everything falls for the tick-tack of time
the have birds by the hand and they whisper
why ?   i don’t know !

turn the words understanding
they will make a world so new
so never-ending   so senseful
that they will die the unknown death of a dream

but when they kiss …

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