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At the cathedral of sun rays,
In the arabesque of forgetfulness,
Solemn and silent,
I saw no-one, caught nothing,
But felt embraced,
Sitting inside the flames
On Sint Andre’s beach.
Was I a shell?
A plant? A landscape?
A tidal swell?
A sculpture of Rodin?
A watcher of my own absence?
A cineast who films the things
That even I don’t see?
Self-running watch
At the cathedral of sun rays,
To which I cannot stop returning,
The convent of my own
The sand, in which I took the imprint
Of my own nonexistence,
Was as fleeting as your movements
Days ago
Inside the thick blue sweater.
The silhouette of me consumed by flames…
Its burning contours went
ephemeral –
a piece of paper got transparent –
A liquid rasa tabula –
Through which
(if someone would appear here, on the beach, and look through)
A new beginning
Was seen.