reflected by the surfaces of the things,
and perturb my soul, provoking me colorful ideas,
that appear to have a grand profound sense
for which I manipulate my will,
nourish my hope,
and my life continue.
But in the continuous influx of images,
the preocupation for what will end, or what will never come,
and the postocupation of remembering the gone that never will return,
impede that I concentrate in the ocuppying myself in the present,
and that I penetrate in the sweet profoundness of the fluid.
When I had not thee sole in encountering thee I thought,
with so much intensity that I already forgot what else then I realized.
When I had thee, I solely feared to lose thee,
and now that I had not thee I solely ask myself
why did I not look towards thy eyes nor in their iris sea did I lost myself
in lieu of losing myself in my abstraction of the inexistent future?
And as I was all the time absent,
now sole, now without thee,
I do not know how to be sole,
for all I forgot from when I lived thus,
and with what I now observe sole solely
the unconfortable incognita surges:
How was it that I was not always sole?
For I can not comprehend how thou surpassedst
the challenge of my lacking virtue,
of my lax discipline,
and of my scarce stance.
Mayhap thou achievedst it all simply by indeed being present.
And that somehow I have to learn to reach,
albeit now the beams reflected by the skin of thy face
crash not against my eyes,
neither perturb my soul provoking me the suave idea of thy face.
Thus without thee,
grand and profound sense,
althought thou be not here to nourish my hope,
she survives, and with her I continue wanting and living.
My vital hope, my hope of thee,
of that thou return, and then in the egoistic fantasy I abstract me not…
of that thou be present, and I be present too,
and then I learn thee, and I have to remember thee,
as forever present…
being eternally being,,,