The lamplights
That keep cities safe at night
Are the same
To invert
The skies viewed from above.
Each city a constellation,
A sign,
Seen from afar, inert,
Seen close up, alive,
But there is no gradual transition:
One has to choose how to see it.
When we learned to fly
We saw the world shrink, far away,
Deform,
And these lights,
Small, lost points
Like islands surrounded by darkness
To remind us
We are made of vacuum
More than of matter.
These islands,
Where everything happens
Are our reflex:
Packs on the surface,
We only go deep
Where there is richness,
We shine to those who see us from above
At the same proportion we are invisible.
We are cities,
We are light,
We are vacuum.
A the same time.
Indiscernible,
Inseparable.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
The lamplights
That keep cities safe at night
Are the same
To invert
The skies viewed from above.
Each city a constellation,
A sign,
Seen from afar, inert,
Seen close up, alive,
But there is no gradual transition:
One has to choose how to see it.
When we learned to fly
We saw the world shrink, far away,
Deform,
And these lights,
Small, lost points
Like islands surrounded by darkness
To remind us
We are made of vacuum
More than of matter.
These islands,
Where everything happens
Are our reflex:
Packs on the surface,
We only go deep
Where there is richness,
We shine to those who see us from above
At the same proportion we are invisible.
We are cities,
We are light,
We are vacuum.
A the same time.
Indiscernible,
Inseparable.
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