My eyelids open and already the flood of thoughts covers me with a veil of dust that reveals itself after another dream of stone.
I saw the end approaching and I wander.
I don’t know if I’m wrong to believe that yesterday is already dead.
I remember looking at this last moment,
Assistant unsuspecting this stagnant present.
Outside, I can hear the birds singing; but soon
A sad music interferes and sends me under the vault.
Here’s a stone immersed in a bottomless well where the farewell falls in disgrace,
Because a succession of seasons flees into the night of ice.
Move away is to cease to exist little by little and to renounce disavowal.
Here is a part of me that is offered to you who dwells in every place and hour.
I know you’re scared, but know that loneliness of spirit also fills my heart.
I learned it in the course of a gloomy anterior stupor
Who will survive beyond this sinister sketch.
Why do I systematically lose myself out of time? Why do I persist as a whimsical person sitting on the frieze?
I sometimes insist with joy, moving away from a certain laziness.
It seems there is almost nothing magical about that tragic day.
The melancholy sun rises and removes the critical doubt that drips:
The tacit liquid passed and I could stop to create.