On the table there is a list
of what I care for
Caressed things, thrown-away things
Creep through half-alive stones and grass
they pull through and fall in
And the bird, on heavenly crossroads
singing, falls into itself
And a man, going after himself,
as if he was another one,
reaches out his hand
and falls in
So, who could really wish just for
the unseen, no witnesses
To seize the omnipresent
for eternal breathing