quarta-feira, 29 de maio de 2013

Paul Auster - Nomad

Nomad -
till nowhere, blooming
in the prison of your mouth, becomes
wherever you are: you
read the fabule
that was written in the eyes
of dice: (it was
the meteor-word, scrawled by light
between us, yet we, in the end,
had no evidence, we
could not produce
the stone). The die-and-the-die
now own your name. As if to say,
wherever you are
the desert is with you. As if,
wherever you move, the desert
is new,
is moving with you.

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