The leaves are still
the sun burns
is this the same place
where we once lived?
Let me see it again
if there's anything left of tomorrow
Feet go alone
attached to the body
walking
through the seasons of time
towards a bus station
that leads to commuter rail
get on, get on, voices say
There are places
that always lack
a station
Others that have three
and distant places where
the passage of years doesn't translate as a station.
The selfie of our memories is still
the sun burns
Is this the place
we once lived
and it's expected to rain
even if everything sinks.
We can go further
get on, get on at Chinese prices
today, because tomorrow
we don't know, voices say
in the stations,
of electric buses.
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