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Before you began to exist in me
As a face, as a form, as a will,
You were a word,
Which from the depths of my dreams
Gave its voice
To my lyricism,
The vague memories of myself
From before my birth –
The memories that don’t correspond
To what I am looking at –
The farthest journey to the unknown.
Not the sea before dawn,
Not the brown backs of the hills,
Not even a trembling hand
At the moment of weakness,
But a distinct shadow of a belief.
You were the word
That wrote my wings,
Its material weight
Pronounced my force
For flight,
For to be,
The height and the depth grew in one:
To fly or to fall meant the same.
Peering into your face now,
I recall the word
That doesn’t exist, I guess,
But brings out my faith in man
And ‘the known world’.
(“Before you began to exist in me
You were already everything” –
making a circle over the sea
with the urtica scarf I’m clothed in).

Drawing “Inizio studio senza soggetto”, by Sara Maino, 2021