My dead-in-battle, my turned to ashes, my earth,
taking the shape he has in the photograph:
leaf´s shadow on his face, seashell in hand,
he marches unto my dream.
He wanders through darkness frozen since never,
through emptiness opened towards him for always,
through seven times, seven times seven, seven silences.
He appears on the inner side of my eyelids,
in the one and only world accessible to him...
one more step and we will listen to your seashell...
Wislawa Szymborska, Miracle fair.
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