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My time is short
and there is so much to do
and I’m not the one to finish this work.
I cover myself up with soft sand
one grain,
then another
sand sticks to my eyes,
sand in my face,
in my ears
grains stick to my body
arranging themselves in waves,
waves
I’m sinking into changing episodes
grains of sand,
then others,
tiny,
innocent
penetrating,
wounding
scattering and arranging themselves
row upon row.
Sinking into my dream
I’m not the one to finish this work,
but there is so much to do
and the time is short
and the worms already eat at the flesh
of the one who has to do the work.
And the time is short.
I sink into my dream,
one wave,
then another
feel the time
one grain,
then another
mounting up
forcing me to sink into the depth
everything is motionless there.
And the work?
Is not for me,
not for me
yet there is so much to do.
And the time?
Yes, time,
The Time,
traps me into
infinite time.