Grafenauer Niko:
The Walk
Slowly,
as if veiled
by a dying urge,
I walk among somber winds
that bar my way.
Sometimes fatigue illumines me
like a dark flame.
Tree-roots
clench a handful of earth.
Owl shudder in their sleep
like heavy hours
and their wailing cries
flail into the night.
Summer
is a vigorous stir of light.
Phantoms bloom in a long beam.
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