Avoid Answering

How the beautiful lines of hills the voices from vineyards

remained so meaningless in the quiet afternoon

the two buses on the opposite street behind the heliotropes

the olive trees half lit half dark the church clock

and the one who saws quite unseen – a tree perhaps

or the stool of the deaf old woman or the big table

of the old burnt-up hostel and even the horse

that appeared amid the yellow corn fields – I don’t know

what to answer I don’t know why, and the light turns red

and the violet slowly steams up the mountains and my papers

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