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I'm going to see her under the bridge of Java

                                      Her body
is like crystal
and her bitter face     the color
                                      of nettles

Long hours of looking for her
                                      —of looking for me in her—
                                      have made me patient

There is a reflection of flowers lowered
in the water that covers her

                                      I am her closest memory
                                      I won't abandon her

                                      The drowned girl is the edge
of my own death

 

 

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