My body, the heating stove, the bed
Softly sway in the universe
Bright fire-balls pass through.
A baby - myself
Dangles above the table
Through his diaphanous body birds fly
Civilisations rise and fall
- "All the worlds break cover from my cry
All the stitches you will write, are here"
He says and he offers to me an ink bottle
- "No" I answer
And dousing the pen into the night, I write:
"The world and I never existed".
The ink climb on my fingers
Spreads out and I disappear step by step
In the place two eyes remains.