I see what is not seen. It is a song of which nothing matters but its rhythm, a wind that blows in order to blow for itself. It is the song of a stone that watches the return of prisoners to what is not among them. The song of a moon that sees the secrets of all people when they hide their madness in its light and believe the song and a fragility that inspects a person in its traces, in the old piece of pottery; in the fishing tool, in a tablet that is interpreted; A song that glorifies miserable absurdity and the power of things in what is not perceived. A song establishes, in order to know itself, the law of its beatitude and leaves for another reading that you see as the opposite of what it indicated and did not indicate. She sings, she sings.
Number of pages: 84
