Friday, September 14, 2018

Descent and Variation

Grieving her mother, grieving
Her mother, grieving.
Herself her mother,
Her mother herself.

It rolls backward to the dawn.
You can hear it in the notes
Of the violin
Playing in the rain.

Yes, it spoils the instrument.
Everything disintegrates
That isn’t alive,

And everything alive dies.
Still, it is continuous.
There are no breaks in the chains.

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