To Double Lock

I am so far from the voices
From the festival’s distant murmur
The foaming mill wheel turns back
The sob of spring water ceases
The hour has painfully glided
Over the moon’s great beaches
And in the cramped warm spaces without a crevice
I sleep head upon elbow
In the calm desert within the lamp’s circle
Terrible time inhuman time
Hunted along muddy sidewalks
Far from the limpid amphitheatre that declines glasses
Far from the decanted song born of leisure
In a bitter tussle of laughter between the teeth
A faded sorrow quaking at your roots
I prefer death forgetfulness dignity
I am so far away when I contemplate all I love

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