As our yearly street fires are lit , we recall for some reason a body so much dead. We recall the grease on the rope to its house . And now we ascend two decades of greasy darkness , with our hands on the grease of so many years.

The body had then smiled beatifically but it had no valve in its heart . So the body would vanish by a fire, leaving its hollow with us. With a valve that did not work ,body was mere soul.

A soul cannot vanish by a fire but a body can ,if under the grease of our common rope . We too will add our grease to it from the palm of our heart. Our heart still has a valve. But we never know how much more it will beat .

And when it stops to beat we will stare mutually at the lizard on the roof, and it will say Kitta Kitta.

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