Dispersed Things
(10 days in New Zealand - Southern Island)

 


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Dispersed Things
I am wandering around my own
emptiness Stumbling over our lost things
Wondering in a sudden reflection
Who could leave them here
Occasionally,
I am raising them with trembling hands over
my head and sacrificing them to
the goodness of remembrance


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I delicately caress them for a while
just to put them carefully back
exactly in the same place.
I am trying hard not to reconfigure anything
and indeed nothing, nothing, nothing...
nothing is changing
After a while, I am falling again in non-existence.
Will it remain like this forever and ever?
East Lansing, wrzesien 1993.

Krys Podgorski *

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