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Martha Goldin



The WOMAN blinks under the sun of afternoon
in the eyes green a distant one
now this woman will recognize the street
the exact site where it used to hide
the loved things
this woman, I say, knows that it does not have to watch backwards
that it does not have to be offed-hook simply
like a cat by the dark cornice
eternal return

but to drop itself with its seven lives
as the leaves of this wild winter fall
of beginnings of century and poles of hunger
where this woman has hidden her dreams
as the used to hide
_______________________the loved things.



on the verge of falling
it is illuminated and it hoped
until rolling triumphant
in the eyelash



place in which I am
and I am not
this place
slightest of all
and most frightful
like a long love?
like a sparkle?
the place where those go away that we loved
or where they continue breathing the twings
until the time end?



on the River of the Silver they fall
as bodies fall?
the are bodies?
they are bodies that fall?
they will never drop?
the bodies?