Gerrit Achterberg

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No death manifests in the number
that connected the two of us.
Nothing is in the apparatus
other than the hissing of eternity.

Perhaps that the opening of an eye
will repeat itself, a trembling
of silk, that has not yet passed away,
and that still wishes to be audible,

o sign, that you have survived,
to have found a place in the ring
figures of my assurance.

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