.
Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.
.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause
.
.
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