This thing
that passes and remains,
it is air--it
is the air.
And without
a mouth that
you can see,
it takes you
and kisses you, Father Lover.
Oh! We break
it apart without breaking it;
wounded, it
flies off without complaint.
And it seems
that the Air
transports
and leaves all behind, willingly.
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Page last
edited February 14, 2000
by: PhoneBoy