You cross the shadow of the town
the loose landscape of the hours
and it’s the shadow of your steps, history
revealing itself in you, – blurred worlds
holed with matter, vertigo
when you raise your arms, the insect
hovering above the well.
At the entrance, someone begs a few crumbs.
The visible gives way beneath its weight.
All the journey is in
this flickering movement of the eye
the compass pushing you from place to place.
And the road disappears, reveals
other worlds, other journeys.
You become desert
to yourself, a limit, a burst frontier.
Only a few marks of other lives
are left on the edge of the days, those faces
the darkness has stopped burying.