I am made more of silence than flashes. I have told so little about winter, not at all about the spring that is coming to an end. My days were no less noisy, enriching, anxious, cloudy and blessed. The ordinary life of a man who feels the fatigue of near-finished duties.
The silence of our desires, of our involuntary acts of possession, of survival. Our haiku drive that propels our hands to the planet from a skin. We, passive meteors, the ultimate destroyers who, by our humble presence, can annihilate hearts, tetanize an existence.