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Where does this barbed wire end?
Snails crawl across the clothes of the killed.
Yet we did not come into the world
only to die.
Since at dawn
it smells of lemon peel.

Under the lukewarm water of night I held
the hand of sleep and the sense of forgetting
the texture of the blanket and of the wall.
If you lift the sheet
you won’t find me.
Try to find me – don’t you understand?
I’m deeper in.