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I walk
the labyrinth
its many corridors
lead to others, and then blank walls
open
Two things
Have come to me
Although I never asked:
Resolve to live in solitude
And You.
Our goal, the soil, in patient brown
will transform all life into its own.
on folded paper
found in this volume of Blake -
a single haiku
Winter ...
old men huddle
on the dock - a pungent
odor of whiskey, fish and lost
chances.
Bach on the radio
a spider weaves her web
with furious joy
Ripening cherries,
who is the first to take them,
a hand or a beak?
(Florence Vilén)
Watching the ceiling
of the Sistine chapel
in a hand mirror
(Florence Vilén)