I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.

I walked around as you do, investigating the endless star, and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.

Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence, without you moving, slicing the noon like a blue flower, without you walking later through the fog and the cobbles, without the light you carry in your hand, golden, which maybe others will not see, which maybe no one knew was growing like the red beginnings of a rose. In short, without your presence: without your coming suddenly, incitingly, to know my life, gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind: since then I am because you are, since then you are, I am, we are, and through love I will be, you will be, we will be.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

I was the owner of my own darkness.

I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done.