
Nine books lie
on my bedside
table, unread:
six poetry,
two non-fiction,
and Don Quixote.
I should finish
Cervantes—
or at least
start— once
again, now
that I’m older,
and his windmills
have turned to giants.
(March 24, 2026)

Nine books lie
on my bedside
table, unread:
six poetry,
two non-fiction,
and Don Quixote.
I should finish
Cervantes—
or at least
start— once
again, now
that I’m older,
and his windmills
have turned to giants.
(March 24, 2026)
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