T e x x t u s

. T e x x t u s #

09014

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Dark emptiness over the hill
and then an open attic window
the wind the wind the wind

a word that is not spoken
but softly laid upon the sill
just like a newborn frantic feather

the first is gone, the second too
the next one is not ready
there´s only a starry, starry night

waiting (there) for me