Guillaume Apollinaire ha muerto
Y nosotros aquí, siendo, como en el espacio.
Guillaume Apollinaire has died
And here we, being, like in space.
And the lens turned pen in search of the old poet. Not far from the uninspiring road -but for Kerouac-, rock guided the leather of my shoes, no, of my camera bag. Into the stream, and back to consciousness. Life posing. My eye stuck to the glass, for a while, another, then more. Minutes of still contemplation, fast throb of my finger. Then mist again, and fingers of the day dressing the invisible skyline.