Jakob Beer:
[reading some of his writings to a tearful Athos]
There is earth that never leaves your hands, rain that never leaves your bones. At night, memory roams your skin. While you sleep, the sea floods your house. You wake in the bog, burning with the smell of earth. Nothing releases you, not death in the dream, not waking. This is how one becomes undone by a smell, a word, a place, a photo of a mountain of shoes. By love that closes its mouth before calling a name.
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:49
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