...by the thinnest


I had time

thinking about this

and it did not end

of taking shape

I was in the limbo
of my doubts

I was and I was still there


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For three or four long days
visual ideas
the word did not accompany

there was a silent content

in each line

the direction of my strokes was known

but I did not have any verb where to go


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I could not postpone it

and I forced myself to be consistent

and consequent

with myself

so I started
to de/en-code

without having an idea of what


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Everything was ready and acclimated
but empty!
Why?

How much later would come

what was to come?

Perhaps

it would do?


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While swinging

between waiting and impatience

trying to pull a rope that I knew was thin

without breaking it

to stretch the trust
not yet having it

it arrived


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It was time
I knew the identity of silence
I knew

what was it

what I did not want to see

nor listen

nor face


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Although I turned my back

I covered my ears with noise

and I closed my eyes with sleepy

there was no way to avoid it

–not she could
get away

of the now–


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The earth, again
was struggling to gobble
However, I think, the wind will win

and, while, the sea

receives rivers of memories

more than we can throw out

the sea takes care of himself


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Help we need, we are inundated!

–I am,

here on a paper boat, watching the movie:

two girls playing all day

fighting to get back to content
eating together

for never to be satiated


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getting older
without growing
The children that were born from me

and you did not have, sister,

live our dollhouse today

and your compliments

flank my signature


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you filled my patience enough

overflowing with disagreements

that we arranged perfectly

leave behind

So much you told me
until you managed to give me an ear shape

and I heard you


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Then it was my turn
to talk
You were not expecting

but in me,

had also formed wise sentences

You stayed with them

you took them–


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Your violet flames

your violent pains

your slower afternoons

of what you could support

and your end
like everyone's

despite being exceptional


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The chest with the ashes of our times better
and worse
or the visions

less cryptic

did not give us a warning

nor safe

of this white mourning


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This the colophon, because every end is the beginning

and, chubby girl,
the rope breaks...



Rest in peace, Anna Karyna,
sister
April 4 1971 - July 8 2018


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©aumonde


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