There is joy, there really is.
And he felt it not as something merciless
which rushes on us
and puts out our unguarded fire
nor as a vertigo which in the double light of irony
brings us a bottle and shoes to make us dance -
no, what he felt was a quiet, simple, unfounded joy,
given rather than granted for an hour,
the joy of a man walking over a bridge
who will go on singing for ever...
But it was enough for the wind to toss a withered leaf
at his feet
and the bridge was overloaded.
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