completes sketching a sparrow
on the nape of memory
lusted on the deciduous leaves in yellow,
it
flapped renouncing the colours
baby feathers falling around withered
filled with an odor of an autumn dream
black and white
with a shortened hair whispered to ear
"a rhythm of played lyre
here to be spread all over thee"
and widespread wings
spontaneously names itself
a poem of baby sparrow
this time
in lack of wandering into the poem,
rests in the last line
as last word
The
Me
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