The Awakening of the Word

I write as if stretching my arms and legs,
numb from a long sleep.

The awakening of the word is like the action of light,
which makes the hidden manifest.

I write as if I were climbing a steep rock,
where no man's foot has stepped for centuries.

The world of the word is an anti-maze: paths run everywhere,
and each of them leads to the goal.

I write as if speaking in a forgotten language
that only the body remembers.

As much as we want control, it doesn't provide the fullness
that comes from miracles.

I write as if I remember an old melody that gets lost in the hustle and bustle,
remaining only like a longing for eternity.