The recitation elaborates again
the consequence of Sun rays. The air
is colored by a fog, is yellow then
an orange tint. I remember her there
and here, somewhere within the broken
memory of language. Her skin is fair,
hair an ineffable shade, she is chosen
as the object of creation. We share
images and riddles rendering the gravity
of her fire. I am the dial that shares
her light with trees, with the broad sea
and conspiring rivers. She is the place
I cannot visit, the object that I bear
wandering through a limited space.
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