Time

First, Second and Third sit inside each other's skins
Like Russian dolls all varnished up with nowhere to go because they're already here

Whenever I see a butterfly taking a breather on the road
I know it's either warming up its wings or clutching onto that broken stone for a last look

Don't you love the lovemaking that goes on
Between mountains and clouds?

If I am now who I was in that overgrown garden using weed stalks like swords
Whose hand is this writing down the words sixty years later?

Some people need a clock to boil an egg
Me, I just guess and that's why sometimes it's runny and you know the rest

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Takacs-Yang Ghazal

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I Don’t Know What It Is