Reanimated, spirit restored, reincorporated, body restored, I contemplate between dreams the scene I've stolen like the one who took fire, like the one who opened the devil box out of curiosity, like the one who saw her equal and her life's love were the same and so effortlessly brought them together. I took exactly what was not mine, with my eyes. I saw the sea inside you: on your surface, mud. I kissed you like a shipwreck, like one who insufflates the word. With my lips I traveled that entire continent, Adam, from dirt, Nothing. I knew myself in your substance, grounded there, emitting aromatic fumes, an amatory banquet of ashes.
This world. A sound sometimes dry, metallic, at times rubbery, has settled the morning for good. It has darkened little by little the songs of various birds, the croak of the daily, wind among hedges, the green yearning. A man places with inexhaustible precision one tile after the another on the roof of the house. He must be the owner. His work is like no other, constant, intended, without refrain. The noise he makes has no echo, but goes on a search, in search of the dawn. Those who live below will be voices that return, feeding on themselves beneath this roof.