long nights in june to see things disappear
the longer the friendship the loss the longer gone
the more loss the more space for stillness
the more stillness
the more
shrude
the shape of summer
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...It`s snowing, the boy said. He looked at the sky. A single gray flake sifting down.He caught it in his hand and watched it expire there like the last host of christendom. (From Corman McCarthy, THE ROAD)
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