Can I be in this landscape? The ladder up to the sentence: I was the one who called the police.

At that part of the silence of night. This is what my dreams looked like at the time. Everything is behind everything. The most important. Sentences are delicate circuits. Later, one of the following nights, as we followed each other down each our line.

On a window pane. Of other cities, other worlds. The ideal, whispers the quiet wind, is not necessarily the trimmed trees, the tightly composed book. Glass hands. An extroverted room, an embracing room. The table wobbles.

Like sitting on a tongue, just looking out there. As if someone had written, blindly, on their own memories. The chair I sat on creaked in the sun. Figs above the view. In the evening, the light seemed to move closer to my skin and there is a happiness flickering in front of my eyes.

Reading for nothingness. I listened with my lips, let my lips write faraway countries into your wrists. The woods.

You must not. You, the sun. It is like that. It was not the fields I came from. A letter.

In the sunlight a precious stone quivers from the depths of the Earth.

Something opened up. In every day remnants of meaning slid along with me.

Which night followed the night? In a different autumn, I would have been embarrassed by sampling. Which night followed the night? Which night followed the night? Which night followed the night?

On the balcony, this stream of new words, new sentences: You sparkle somewhere down there on my pages. Which night followed the night?

Which night followed the night? Which night followed the night?

Which night followed the night? Which night followed the night? We thought of giraffes, cheetahs an

By the outermost shores we found a small, green stone. You wrote a sentence on my skin to help me look through your eyes.

Then I saw the third night in the stillness, in the distance. It is like that.

I don’t disappear. On a big piece of white paper.

Of all the shining, reflecting, dull. What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to?

What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to?

What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to?

Something glittered (glittered) between my fingers. You wrote a sentence on my skin to help me look through your eyes. Star continent. You say something about the sun. The wall around the words. You reach out your eyes towards shores to come. I don’t want to lose you, I whispered in your dream, and let my heart beat softly against your body. I could feel the fragile truth.

As if someone had written, blindly, on their own memories.

My one pen is red and the other is black. The lime. Then someone tried his hand at literary debate. Incomprehensible sentences to dress in. The light followed the shadows and found reflection in the flagstones, the windows, the darkness. Nothing is deeper than the skin? Some are stoned while trying to catch a dull, dusty router.

If I wanted your gaze. I get the day going, writing quietly. Your sentences.

There was a whirling in the air and colours shimmered off the walls.

Of other cities, other worlds. Darkness we just called darkness.

Over the rubble.

Did you know that?

A letter. Like sitting on a tongue, just looking out there. I don’t want, you.

I read random collections of poetry. We have the same eyes. Suddenly one night, giraffes fell from your dreams. Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes.

I sat and listened to the blue, blue sky, the laundry and the pigeons, seagulls, swallows (were they really swallows?). The cloud hid something from the birds.

Darkness we just called darkness and let its blanket pull itself into the day like a turbulent cloud filled with the most fragile gravity.

Around hesitant stars we came up with names for things. Together we mapped the order of things lying down. In the lips and in the skin. Desertion. Assertion. Did you know that? You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. I get the day going, writing quietly.

I could forget what is forgotten. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. Parts of your dreams fell out between your lips. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains.

You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains. You dragged me down to the outermost mountains.