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When I am exhausted, when I
seem to be
a man loaded with bones,
when we are in the deep of the day
and light cannot get down to us anymore,
as it cannot get down under the reef,
evening thickened under air as under water,
and the birds have emptied their colors
over the horizon, the world left to us
is an old photo, deep ago, with no breathing.
We have useless eyes.
What happens at night is something
only another can tell you.
You brush me awake. −You mumbled,
your face flickered like inside your face
was on fire, there was something lost
on both sides of your pillow−
I remember now. It was dark like being
under water, like a photograph. It hurt to breathe.
The vet with a flashlight was showing me
the two small cloud in the dog's eyes.
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