Day one,
and there was light.
A path out of chaos.
A radiant beam of hope.
I opened my eyes to the unconceived.
A fiery hand
touched my palm,
leading me to unknown paths.
Ninth hour of the morning!
I was born in the sea.
I am unvisible, unseen.
Plankton they call me.
Chance met shells
and anemones my companions.
I played with the sand,
was one with the waves,
sipped at oxygen and salt.
The Eternal God told me:
"Before night comes you will have become food".

I didn't unedrstand it.
I was afraid
"You are unfinite.
You will be reborn in the morning".
This reassured me.
But who can wait for the morrow?
I saw a glowing star.
It slipped to the horizon.
"That must be my soul
ready to take flight.
The Moon laughed at me with bitterness.
"I' m sorry for that".
Weeping,
I drifted into the redeeming arms of sleep
Day two.
Morning.
Death spat me into the bowels of a great whale.
It is called "Leviathan".

I am reborn.
"I inhabit a green seaweed.
It tickles my body and I arise".
I saw the light which transpierced me.
Creation is a cycle.
Creation in its cycle engenders All.

Measuring my strength,
against the sounds
escaping from closed windows.
O heaven!
you saw me
escaping
from your garden.
Pale
as the mist.
I walked
along paved pathways
and found myself
behind
blood-stained doors.
You reacted.
I spat in your face.
You gave me the kiss of Judas Iscariot

O Janus, my god,
show me your
two faces tonight.
You hid them from me, for so long.
I will leave you.
Don't you touch me.
Put on me a mask of plaster
And then be gone...

Dense and deep, the darkness
finds us at the table
with the leftovers of the day
still scattered around.
Quiet.
Silence is garrulous.
Eyes glued to nothnig.
Mind ever-moving.
Timeless images.
Pictures in black and white
clipped, disconnected.
The soul insensible to tears.
Perishing is unmitigated pain.

The north wind was always blowing
as I mounted
the staircase of that dream.
On the way I always found
fallen leaves
shed from the trees,
I had planted in my imagination.
The Autumn of a woman...
Two drops of bitterness
on the eyelashes.
Plucked petal by petal.
Abandoning the struggle.
I used to hold them in my hands
and wish on them
But none has come to pass...