the trees have soaked the streets
you can start by telling the truth
how the tiles of the phases of the moon have gone missing
you want the streets to suffocate, smothered by gravity and a fury so natural, so ancient, we're not meant to understand it
so no we'll stay still until the dark sky passes
and the truth will become more evident
I keep time on my hands
I won't steal our thunder
the thunder that shakes the branches or the lightning that rattles our limbs
keep your eyes to the sky
as the trees are our beds and our final destination
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