This thing desired us, whom we desired
To swallow us again and again
each time smaller,
each time finer
until breath is ground
into air
Days over nights, empty or not
the mill revolves
Where is the circle
Where is the axis
I acknowledge that I do not hold any more
When I listen to the sentences
intrigued by this thing
This which tears us off at the hours,
scaling our seconds
slicing our years
as long as we can listen
This thing so much desired
We will make it a wonderful bread.
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