Those are pearls

Rilke’s father had no moustache .The brows touch and in the eyes a dream.By a poet who looked for dreams in vintage photograph creatures.

Like Ariel spirit who sang for you to disappear and be gone for ever singing of pearls that were eyes of dreams that made his pearls five thousand rupees for a string in the pearl bazar of four towers,far from oyster hosting oceans.

We are looking for dream fathers without a moustache, their brows not touching, as knit in thoughts from a far off space, soft to touch like pearls solidified from dreams found in old photograph creatures.

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