These are not necessarily opinions any longer
held by the management, by the way.
Two more poems than from this section and then about 6
from the final section of the book.
"Letters"
"They've served me up to now.
In them, I could talk.
But the talk was false and killing me.
Now I write few and sent none.
Nothing I need to tell can be made fitting.
The moon and I have a contract.
The sun breaks in two.
Grass withers in its fields at night.
In the morning, the dew ripens like berries in a young woman's
mouth, running and sweet.
Who could I tell?"