Gået i stykker

Ved jordskælvet
min kærligheds favoritkop blev brudt,
også Marias urn var brudt
på den mantelpiece over pejsen;
du, engel, er vendt tilbage til vinden,
men brande brød ud
din aske blandet med
char og aske, og
Jeg deltager i marchen af
​​brudte mennesker der skal dø,
når en revne udvider ved daggry

Mit barn græder:
Hvorfor er verden brudt?

Følelse er bevægelsen,
de tektoniske fartøjer
dybt ind i mig som glidende
berøringsplader af skæbnen
tête à tête at bryde
——-
At the earthquake
my love’s favorite cup was broken,
Mary’s urn was also broken
on the mantelpiece over the fireplace;
you, angel, have returned to the wind,
but fires broke out
your ashes mixed with
char and ash, and
I take part in the march
Broken people to die
when a crack expands at dawn

My child is crying:
Why is the world broken?

Feeling is the movement,
the tectonic vessels
deep into me as sliding
touch plates of fate
tête à tête to break

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