Odile Kennel
Luckily the Fog Came late. Below, I well know, the tadpoles swam in the stone fountain. The cows uncovered, with their circumspect hooves, the arteries of the hills. Above us a hawk circled. That is not
a hawk you said, but we had neither a telescope nor an English dictionary. The noise came from the gliders. They scratched the air in their greedy flight. They cut it upward and downward our eyes hesitated interlaced, prudent plunge by words in a curved valley, exploring mountain to mountain Luckily the fog came late so we could admire in the chapel a transsexual Jesus, with pearly nails. Thanks to our eyes, circumspect hooves under untranslatable circles, such that our eyes like tadpoles swimming in the stone fountain became tangled these with those they sank luckily the fog came late.
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