I  started a poem  where I had left off
yesterday and today is another day
I shall go onward  or be dead with it
the day I  stop I will breath no more.

windows are still  open for words
their content December cold froze
in hole on to a  bigger balcony hole
their light a new sun’s hole in wall.
as long as there is hole  of my sun
my poems are continuous breaks.

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