Did you see her? She just tripped, her arms full
of letters. Prophesies. Both hands gripping
the weighed and judged; finding a precise measure
Pages are everywhere. When someone asks
if they can help, she looks worried, almost
afraid. She's been called a fanatic before,
even a lunatic.
Her occupation doesn't fit tradition or common
culture. There is always someone at her shoulder
reminding her of the messes she makes and how
have flown into her mouth. They even criticize
her clothes. But she's too busy dreaming the dreams
people tell her, puzzled by what they have seen.
What they see
confirms what she has already thought, every
inclination and intuition in her gut, to which she
gathers the leaflets of prophesies, still fresh after
all these years.
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