TE21 Serbian Moments
Her course is full of consideration and therefore meandering. She has learned how to last in between. Ever since she arose she isn’t like herself for she is constantly departing. So she manages to stay in place. At least apparently. At least as far as we can tell.
They marvel at her so that they imagine she is flooding. Here, at this moment too a painter is studying her color, a believer is washing his feet, a deer is drinking, a drowned person succesfully hides, a peasant woman with her skirt hiked up complains about her new pregnancy, a willow admires itself the whole day, while a tourist inquires is she safe? Depends on when. Everything that’s hers is in her. She is her own border. Besides flowing, she has no other dimensions.
The river must be here. Everyone sails in the river except for her. It’s always been like that: some move around, others move things. The river doesn’t podner fate and justice. She has seen too many things to compare them.
Dynamic and static she dodges diagnoses. Never ill, since never well. In existence.
She redeems it by spreading. From the air you can see
all her tributaries: all her crucifixions.
People, who always want to go back, have often written about her.
She’s represented in almost every myth. They have entrusted so much ash to her that she hardly manages to scatter all that honor.
She doesn’t match description for she has no pose. She knows how to exist without commentary. In the place to lie down she has created for her own dimensions
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