Traces A fervency, close to alchemy, purified us; recall the sequence, moment to moment, the pauses , the lapses, air traced as you defined voluptuous. Passionate miners, we dug gems bare-handed from the abandoned mother lode. The rich vein blinded us on discovery, consumed us in riches, but, source exhausted, you deserted the claim. Witnesses report how children delight at your Buster Keaton ballet in the rain, how morning arrives for you on common stone. You exhausted the source, deserted the dig, it was the mother lode you abandoned. Something close to alchemy worked for us, recall the sequence, moment to moment, the pauses, the lapses, air traced as you defined voluptuous. That rich vein blinded us on discovery, consumed us in riches we both held but had never fully staked. Witnesses report how children delighted at your Buster Keaton ballet in the rain, how morning arrives for you on common stone. Obdurate onyx revives itself from dead quarries. Any relevant claim has vanished. (orig.) Once glittering gems we dug bare-handed from abandoned mines are covered with dust. You deserted the dig, the mother lode; the source is exhausted. I can’t find a way out of the blank trace. Recall the sequence, moment to moment, when alchemy worked for us. First the pauses, the lapses, then our separation; you turned away from that rich vein that blinded us on discovery, set us languishing In riches we both held but had never fully claimed. Witnesses report, after the break, how you delighted the children, whose eyes held treasures in the rain, as morning came to you on a narrow walk of common stone. I feel absence of color inside me, all around me. Obdurate onyx lies here with me in this dead quarry. My claim has vanished.
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