At the core of the core,
There is nothing more to say, And everything wants to be said, The hayricks of Monet, Blank cards (the ones that Were supposed to carry The instructions), the yellow Sheen of the canary, The coiled energy, the string Shimmering, the less than String, wave without water, Then no wave, no grid or plan But beauty, steel, immutable Will and song, love and Crashing seas. And down below A shiver along the strand.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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