Ossídio Gaspar

I am not in control of the seasons

You are not here

It is not here

They are not here

I am here.


Things ending

Things never started

So things begin again.

The difficult days







My change

My stasis

My distance

My year,


From every first time of it

Up to the next thought of it

There has been this third, unthought,

Known for a weather’s weather,


Again – as it was

I have been – outthought

By the change of change.


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