On account of my shadow
the frogs are deprived of stars.
The shadow sends my body
reflections of quiet things.
My shadow moves like a huge
violet-coloured Glacier.
A hundred crickets are trying
to gild the glow of the reeds.
A glow arises in my breast,
the one mirrored in the water.
So
A red in voice and gesture
again and again
quivers forlorn
in yesterday's breeze.
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