to awake at the edge of the dawn
of this fragile break
at the edge of the desert
to write in the sand book
the impossible I
prepare myself in the slides of the
wind
deserted turned over
storm and his reverse
I always write
in the sand notebook
and the impossible I already
dispersed
letter after letter after
an abrupt wind carries the letters
towards
a word
then
in the fold of this word
torn off to the storm
I awake at the edge of the desert
and without saying I
write in the notebook
of continuity