XXIV.
on a rough crossing of Lake Baikal
I am inside a water droplet
on the glass of my actual ferry
following in its saltwater course its
odd
distorted horizon
on a rough crossing of Lake Baikal
I can’t wait to tell you simpler things
how the wind is gone round to the East
bringing cooler air and
a drop of four degrees
on a rough crossing leave by the fast clock
return by the slow
crossing suicide notes
why not death threats
Piglia writes on Pavese
that the purpose of the diary
is to make suicide
possible
that smell of morals and lyrics
when poetry if it exists at all
it is at the oral limit
we count the stones on the beach
what nation what beautiful was
every stone
one by one
we count the elements
the void
space
time
lekton which is for Emmanuel Levinas
poetry and
on its horizon
