I am overwhelmed by your ascesis
you take no pause you stand upright like a clay tablet coloured and compact, with a dense interior
rhythm of myth and lyre
of body and lust
your face scratched by absence
like a wall of some ancient temple with slashes and slants
with codes and dates
like a censored and stigmatized book for which your soul craved
melted in a watercolour
without a single repeated
stroke. Nothing.
All is perfect from first to last.
And this drizzle, this trifling thought
will pass. Only your metaphysical unrest will remain
the scratches, the time´s quill
over notebooks and frescoes
prolonged echo
of the word
your unrest, both when you paint and when you break!