HISTORY

You are that certainty that bursts into my present, while I take care of the collection of chrysalis and wild moss on the east wall.
A sort of presence that I cannot define, but whose outline I can breathe.
You are in me.
Please, untie the tangled skein of these stars, so that I can mark your fern flank with a finger.
Now that I had a glimpse of you in the expanse of these lichens looming over my present, I leave you a message written on the clouded glass.
We will not finally meet somewhere, because we have always been one in the other, sitting in the corners of the stars.