Poem in prose


Which bird's quill was a pen and drank from the inkpot to write a song? Horizon! I wonder if you saved the quill or gave it back to a crane or a dove. Horizon! You might hear my earthly talk. The sky's skin is blue silk while a crane is as white as chalk. Horizon! Are you a board on which this piece of chalk writes a word? It's me or a crane or maybe a dove drinking some water from your dew drop. Let me go even barefooted for a moonlit walk! I wonder if you saved what I could have lost. Neither a crane nor a dove knows what might be wrong. Horizon! It's me or a crane or maybe a stork settled in the world for this earthly song. A crane is as mystic in its white clothes as I am in my ink's storm.

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