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35 Still The rivers have become lakes. The wind has lost its limbs. The flames, they are quiet, Like a shy house, Low, simple, Close to the ground. Silent, Still All is still! Like a city ashamed of itself, Cowers before its contemporaries, Its reflection swallowed by the earth. Invisible! Nothing to catch the eyes and make them roam for more, Nothing to exact a smile. When will the water run again, The wind walk and talk, The flames dance to the tune of the crackling wood? When will the house stand up And multiply itself around the city? When will life come into everything? 09/08/09 36 ...

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