I discreetly leech the image, the fundamental insight,
that protects the frontier post of immateriality and matter,
the interface between present and past. It reflects
the horizon here, and the promenade turns galaxy.
My hearing would be better if the incessant static
weren´t confusing high and low, and I could see
if the earth weren´t exuding mist, the cities ammoniac vapour,
and I clouding the contours of my thought in a mirror.
Like some haemophagous insect abandoning its wings,
I leave my senses, penetrate behind sounds, suck silence there.
I see the immaterial core in dense matter, and I
free myself from the person gone astray in an ego.
For an eternal moment, immeasurable by time,
I exit from existence. Memory of my doings goes,
and I realize I understand, when I´m understood, that
the key of the arcana is in the hand of the handless.