Pausing on the threshold. Cold from inside the building, a church or a production facility on a public holiday. I've taken just random samples, then withdrawn back to the threshold. The looking and the waiting. Altars or machines. It's that unclear. The lighting subdued. The waiting for memories, free of any touch or reproach. The dream of taking useful action, aimed not at me but at something else that nonetheless seems, however, to explain me, in that I am serving its purpose.
Translated by Catherine Hales