And then at some point of time, which no doubt corresponds to a specific location by location change, we move geographically, all either in the luminous line that the train track of a gesture sure, and without one being able to identify it without risk of being wrong, head leans, oscillates, and consciousness, in turn, staggers, without in any way deviate from this line that crosses the entire space. If so, the neck is supported within the perimeter of its possible hesitation, if it stalls, it is not impossible that consciousness becomes, the world, more and more diffuse, more and more vague ...
... And that, on the waves of this consciousness undecided, undivided horizon where the sea meets the ether, undivided images, which are transformed into each other continuously, solidarity vague dreams that pass through vague images, a tree whose bare silhouette stands out against the fine imperception what is the background fades, the painter did not finish the painting, it leaves in my conscience that path with ink, and I know nothing more, but certainly I saw between my eyelashes almost rested against each other edge of the eye behind which I shelter my dreams, inked silhouette of this tree, before
my eyelids do bring to a close. Anyone
... anonymous ... who cares?, We do not know ... but the waves are there, under the eyelids, they are there, which succeed each other, I remember to have you watched ( e) looking at them, and they never ceased to succeed, they never cease to succeed, and I thought in one of the quieter recesses of my consciousness, that you would not leave until there would be another and still another, and each wave in itself the possibility of the next, I end up thinking that you would never want to leave, and I looked at you like a drop of ∞ deposited on the finished anything in this world.
You alone (e), ∞. But I am not very sure. So
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