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I attend to the plundering
of the day
with its mourned injured ivory;
and to the absence of the one
who, from the war, did not come back,
and who, without saying his name,
remained nailed in the monarchy of silence.
Without being a carpenter,
or taking it any further,
I do everything that pertains to the hammer:
I go from bang to bang singing
over the open cut of the wood.
I don't have to close my eyes
nor wake up in the bonfire of the night
to listen to the navigated voice of salt
that is drowning in the empire of water.
I go to the shadowy world
of the mirror,
to the murmur of a broken pot;
but, above all,
to the anxiety of a bell that cannot sound. |
