I do not know if I can bring back my
flowers
The soil is sparse
and you never wanted to be a god, anyway
But I can still capture the touch of
lightness
and our astonishment when we met in
that place outside of all this
Since then the lands and the seasons
the constant turning
has tired me
and I went many times and you were not
there
If I come, will you hold me, make any
promises, is ours something rooted that reaches to the sky
Or do we remain as incidents
albeit at the shrine
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