novembre

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without telling you what we knew

What is it with strings?
A bow pulled across them to draw out mourning

the breakage of a heart over distance.
The morning light is the good life
and someone in bed agrees with the sounds outside.

Beauty is the belief in a great return.
The perpetual longing for what is
known to be potentially painful and the embracing of it.

from the poem INSTRUMENT by James Meetze.

11:58 am - 09.08.04

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