Thoughts fall like leaves,

rot like fruits without teeth,

at times give shade

and at others

resemble the withered lip of a naked branch.

There are bodies that crack space,

break it as they fill it,

wound it as bread wounds certain mouths.

And there are shadows that heal that space,

close up the wounds that their bodies made,

restoring those bodies

from somewhere more intimate.

Thoughts fall like leaves and rot like fruit,

but have no roots

and do not move in the wind.

Thinner than bodies and their shadows,

they neither crack space nor heal it: 

they are a tree of space,


without roots,

in the center..

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