Eternograf 3
Perhaps my being
is merely a mistake of silence,
a daring dream of the universe,
born in a moment of cosmic hesitation.
And yet I,
in my fragile innocence,
try to give form to the infinite,
to grasp with empty hands
that spark
which always slips between my fingers.
But what is touch,
if not a silent way of losing?
And what is loss,
if not another path
toward the truth that we are bound,
invisibly, to all we cannot hold?
I am but a passerby
on a shoreless sea,
carrying within me the weight of dreams
that not even death
can scatter.
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