Hands no longer shake
give themselves up to me and beg
the way home, the shelter
to spend the hours that remain
before it arrives in the evening and is serene.
I wonder
and I can not find answers to trivial
who I am and what I do,
where I go and with what.
A shadow appears on the threshold, stretching,
covers and washes out the colors,
gloss over in sad clippings,
increasingly skinny ...
anonymous twentieth century
fragments found
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