OLD DIRECTIONS

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Trains arrive and leave,
people meet each other,
the weather builds
cathedrals of cloud.
We approach
a possible fate
under magnificent architecture
which the lightest breeze
can destroy.

Even the red stone
has lost something
and studies the sky,
looking for memories.
Even in a lion’s heart
it rains sometimes
and horses get confused
in forests of snow.
At the station I missed the train.