The System

It circles in me every moment brighter than the moment before. It is a ray of light that splits the dark dead end of my corridor and like a bewitched moth draws me after it. Attached to me is an umbilical cord that circulates the particles of air through my small bronchi. Particles of the air of another planet circle beneath this hard, dark shell. A tender sweet kernel lies asleep behind the fence of the apricot stone. In the room of my skull a little girl with tousled hair and two wet, sleepy eyes stubbornly cracks large hard stones in a mortar. A field of gravity stubbornly calls the particles of my soul into itself and drives me into the orbit of a sun that embraces my body and does not burn it. It is a sky in which naked clouds wear a crown of flowers of fire on their silver hair and are immersed in the embrace of pure blue. Far, far behind my eardrums there is a snail from which a spring wells up and circles in me. With the edge of the bruise-blue shawl that covers my hair I close my ears to the confused sounds of the street and hear the sound of the snail’s water pouring down into my dry bones - with two wings of seashell ... Without words: it is the warbling of a song in the bird’s throat at sunrise. Without words: it is the whisper of a scorched meadow in the ear of the rain. Never! Never! The allegory of a train that, by a plan laid in advance, on unchanging rails races toward a collision with a cliff of stone, will prove no principle. The hands of light stubbornly turn my face toward the sky I see your doves that have come down and even now from my open lips are picking the large drops of rain ... 26/5/1381