We had no time for the mountains || Elegant and fluid, the lines took you on and on || Sleeping in a train, the landscape passes, there are gulls on ploughed fields, mist, telegraph poles, the subtle fatality of details | you can neither tick nor cross off || Kitchen scents and presences after | he left the room for a moment | Steam’s faint odour | of heat, metal and moisture || Populate the years || And we found there | the years, the years and | only the years || She didn’t start a beggar || Life was unkind to her || Her taste was for simple clothes, plain black, ropes of | pearls || Did you know, a pearl is a “living jewel”? || Another tiny fork in reality: which car should she take? || Everywhere, there are mute things | and we must bid them | “Speak”

 


from the series construct (2012–present, ongoing)

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