The White Peacock


The White Peacock

A look or a wisp of smoke,
The moment it flies sideways, opened by the wind
A probability wave, a fluffy cup,
still afloat the debris of the crashed rocket that
suddenly fell in the evening.
She is the splendid white uncertain heartbeat of the black hole,
A tunnel that runs gently
in the light that the fleeting branches trying to hook
With the Utambra flower blossoming
walking with the decomposed posture in the continuous extension of the edge of the nocture in silver and gray——
The receding soft body. The water of the sea.

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