there, with your head down, waiting.
It doesn't matter if we barely know each other.
We've met before so many times.
The road alone will cut your feet,
parch your face under the hot sun.
Fold half into half, then half again.
Simply make an outline of who you want to be.
I will cut you into a string of others.
Take either end or place yourself in the middle.
Reach right, reach left. Someone
always will meet your reaching with a hand.
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