^{translated by Tess O’Dwyer}

Behind the word is silence. Behind what sounds is the door. There is a
back and a fold hiding in everything. And what was approaching fell and
stopped far away in proximity. An expression falls asleep and rises. And
what was over there returns. It’s a way to put the world back in its place.
And something comes back when it should remain remembering. 

But if I ring the bell, water jumps and a river falls out of the water again.
And the body rises and shakes. And the rock wakes and says I sing. And a
hand turns into a kerchief. And twilight and wind are companions. And this
twilight appears amid lightning. Outside there is a bird and a branch and a
tree and that lightning. Above all, there is noon without form. And suddenly
everything acquires movement. Two travelers meet and their shoes dance.
And breeze and morning clash. And the seagull runs and the rabbit flies.
And runs and runs, and the current ran. Behind what runs is life. Behind
that silence is the door.