to him comes a woman in a dream,
a woman comes to him like snow,
and the light will say, and flare up at the head.
and there will be a garden, and a tree in a window,
and hidden until now in the white darkness
preeminent drip and love.
we will sleep and dream about February,
until the colorful butterflies love
hurry to the last tenderness towards
until the amber of dawn
and darkness, opening the caesura,
interferes with high water with the first.
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