Worth darkness.
Crash upsets the table of values.
The dent in the seat cushion begins its rise.
Light, thrown from the body, bunches on the floor.
Echoes caught on one wall, struggle there.
Wealth of one shadow.
Window, open a crack, lets in the color
the rain has been going over.
Offer me the hand that is colder.
The cold room, put together out of old materials,
maintains this position.
A river knows its stones.
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