Apr
29
2013

The streets are paved now.
Monday morning, the noise of rubber and asphalt.
Monday morning, the quiet balanced between two people walking down an alley way.
We waked up hearing the sound.
It was not singing.
It was curled.
It was like singing and it wasn’t singing.
And then it stopped and we heard the sound as if nobody had made it.


In: Poetry
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