I hear the buzz of a snow screen, the sound of disorder —
Knowing these things could be different.
Say you are adrift on the current and the headland awaits you
In theory, or you are surrounded by ideas which are precisely
Not the water hitting against the raft
Without fail
And the planks on which your weight
Seems to rest sloping or the brittle
Air and you would think, in shock,
How is that I am here?
And perhaps you soon won't be.
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