Still too tired not to be still
you come and sit
for a vigor not knowing how to be consistent
at the bottom of sleep
and you are like any thought would be
if left to its own fate
a grip that loosens to reveal
that every tiny detail is universal

and whoever sleeps inside your chasm
arches on the surface
and sits in for the sky
nobody is surprised if suddenly
invaded by an enormous wind
a presence
that outlines itself and gives shadows
constellations
roads in which - without recognizing them - you see yourself
and where what happens
is as it seems
so much it rips from the voice
names to unveil as soon as they are born

those who pronounce them are awake and say ‘day'
as if to tell the existence of the world.

Translation: Moira Egan and Damiano Abeni