I walked among the hummocks of a land scoured, the secret breaths, the plants without memory. The mountain rose up, a shadow-filled flask embraced now and again by the gesture of thirst. My track, my existence were slowly fading. Your face slipped away retreating in front of me. It was only a spot in search of the bee that would make of it a flower and call it alive. We were going to separate. You would remain on the high plain of scents and I would enter the garden of the void. There, in the safekeeping of rocks, in the wind’s fullness, I would place my sleep at the disposition of the true night for it to deepen your happiness. And all the fruits would be yours by right.
[MAC]