On the bank of a river, a dry reed stalk
fire will burn it, metal will cut it, water will not wet it
out of its space will come its musica straw man on fire feels nothing
but the hopes of a people burn with it
hollow man, house of myth

a river becomes many at its mouth
not like a branched tree that remains itself
but like a man who loses himself in his offspring
and believes becoming is death and continuity

there is comfort in the changing unity of the sea and the shore
in the abstract
but a man, moved too much like a straw
becomes husk, driftwood

we are neither trees nor rivers and cannot spread ourselves
we pass, instead, from one place to another
seeking alms of misfortune.








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