I shall now wait for not being there
To become a habit, a ship for the land
Standing in the sea to hold my secret
When I will turn just other to others
An epitome of my secret life in death
A ship for a land, a haven for a ship.

My not being there shall turn a habit
As  death will turn a habit, a red sun
On the broad plains of eternity, a night
That has fled time, a habit of my death
To the world, to  stars that will flicker
Softly in not being there, to the moon.

(Echoing Rilke in "You are the future the great sunrise red" from the Book of Hours)

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