THE GATE

Excerpt XXIX

Wild geese fly over; a few of their feathers fall onto

           the moldy cistern

used matches on the dilapidated pension stairway

egg shells, bicycle wheels, banana peels, cans at

the back side of the fence. Each spring I think of

           cleaning up  

yet the next day I decide to postpone it for next year;

then more things accumulate, they get forgotten;

the best trotting horse jumps in the mirror during

the night; its straddling continues; horsehairs fall

onto the cheeks of the sleepy caretakers; I get mad;

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