An Illustration of My World

An Illustration of My World

The same as your non-existent window.

Like a shadow of a hand on a ghost instrument.

The same as veins and the intense manner

by which blood travels through them.

Always with the same equity,

offering me its precious

continuity it ideally ensures

your existence.

From a distance.

At a distance.

Despite the distance.

With your forehead and your face,

all your presence, not closing your eyes,

and the landscape that leaps

from your presence when the city was not,

could not be

but the useless reflection

of your hecatomb presence.

To wet the feathers of birds even better

this rain falls from on high.

It locks me inside you.

Inside

yet far from you

like a lost path

on another continent.