|
The leaf,
without knowing that it is dead,
changes the curve of its periphery
and declines
with the rigor of the water crystals,
into the universe of whatever is born.
In its tumbling memory
its orphancy accelerates the decay of its skeleton;
it turns into mire,
and submerges the nectar of its process
in the subterranean pores
of some maternal root.
And in its long voyage
of death turned into drop,
without any realization
of its tragic progression,
it returns to the cup of the branch
in a gesture of tireless insurrection:
it multiplies
and repeats its mortal feat. |
