1
Out of solitude, he begins again -
as if it were the last time
that he would breathe,
and therefore it is now
that he breathes for the first time
beyond the grasp
of the singular.
He is alive, and therefore he is nothing
but what drowns in the fathomless hole
of his eye,
and what he sees
is all that he is not: a city
of the undecifered
event,
and therefore a language of stones,
since he knows that for the whole of life
a stone
will give way to another stone
to make a wall
and that all these stones
will form the monstrous sum
of particulars.
- Paul Auster
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário