Anita Brookner
Forgot what it was
I'd formulated
again
sitting for hours
staring
into the darkness
of passage
(except that)
a voice I hear
now and again
chooses words that
sound strangely
like mine
and they
tumble endlessly
away
becoming water
shaping the same
rocks
which may
soon
guide me
(should I not wait)
all the way
across into that
same forever.
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