At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
And off the white smoke swims
Appendices
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
What is there in the depths of these walls
My keyhole blows a gale
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
The face of a Quos ego),
References