I am. I am not.
Empty box, deaf, without rumble.
I am the light which is not there. Black water.
I move my gaze
to look for labile bodies
that disappear after the first glow.
I am a branch.
Under the weight of the snow which is slow to melt.
And dead leaf on dust of rust.
I open my soul to the world.
And I shout. I am. Alive.
I am today. And yesterday.
I am hands that slowly collect
nets full of uncertain geometries.
I look up and
I am. Only. A man.
M.F.