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Carlos Bertoglio

One day this house will be a heap of stones

when time or war have separated us

and death like fire obscures

our walls, our fever, our shared tongue

My name, a void on the edge of your lips

cruel spring, vile murmur

the mob, the landslide, the sorrow of knowing ourselves lost

In this world of limbs piled up on a table,

You’ll walk without me

And you’ll be okay

It will be natural


One day

(and by coincidence)

You’ll kick a stone

And it will be the last

And lowest bit of our foundation

Right then

And not a moment before

Throw away the key, breathe deep

And follow your path

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