If H is a house on fire,
flame is the merciless dance.
But the A next to it,
contradicts.
It is the A of water,
of pails and tears.
It is the A of quarrel.
Day and night have not yet
ended their disagreement
and neither have the A and
[...]
Who will write this poem?
Don't ask the silence.
It doesn't answer anyone.
Don't ask the alphabet, sound
asleep again.
Don't ask the pen.
It is out of thought and ink.
What will we write it with?
Don't ask the pencil either,
It has a b [...]
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