A nameless exit
Caught the setting sun - what will destiny now do? Drums roll on and on. . . . A train is passing by, an insect leaping high, a path is fading out, a thought in flight goes by.
The train has now completed its whole run, people get off, people go on their way. I caught the forty-five of September, when I did not know what the sky was like.
The insect has completed its long leap behind the hedge from thirty years ago. Whether it was November or February it never knew a thing about my care.
The pathway leads to Giordano Bruno. I don't know what in him is so rebellious, but his system, pure and linear, has never betrayed my countryside.
The thought… what does the thought matter? A vertigo of deep night, an adolescent call upon the water, an idea on the tomb of light.
The thought has flown away, the pathway's vanished too, the insect's leapt away, the train has passed as well. . . . Who has passed by now? Upon the crossroads of God - a nameless exit.
