I have faced the night and am
faced with the night. It happens
each day produces an end.
Here I begin, as the sun
touches clouds going, as if
wanting to feel where it is
or has been, and to find its
way back. I know: it is I
who feel, feel for the sun, for
a touch of light in the sky,
to assure myself each day
dying proceeds from the heart.
Now the night proves me. I search,
as if to find words for sleep,
as if to compose a sleep.
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