“Poetry”

And it was at that age …

Poetry arrived in search of me.

 I don’t know, I don’t know where

it came from..

from winter or a river.

I don’t know how or when,

no, they were not voices,

they were not words,

nor silence,

but from a street I was summoned,

from the branches of night,

abruptly from others,

among violent fires

or returning alone,

there I was without a face

and it touched me.
(…)
And I, tiny being,

drunk with the great starry

void,

likeness, image of

mystery,

felt myself a pure part of the abyss.

I wheeled with the stars,

my heart broke loose on the wind.