173 It happened when you took a picture of people in a Room, and suddenly I started moving on the photograph. It came about, when in the rush of a street, amid a Rolling crowd, you laid your eyes for me to stumble over. Now I stay there by your helpless eyes flaming on the asphalt. I can't move. My image on your picture moves and speaks to you. But that's a frightening ghost -- it lacks what has made you chase me, Though you cannot see this for your eyes are left behind, in soot.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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