Life is agreeable to me; I experience it as much as the world’s necessity allows, and through the observation of everything else.

I do not yield my body to another!

From the trees, I learn to stay patient on the other side of the street, and not to approach those who are at war; for this war is not mine.

I am here, and the rest, the clouds, the hands

I watch them, and when the time comes, my subconscious throws them out.

Within me burns a flame of conflict between experience and tradition,

between the witness and the landscape.

Perhaps there are only these two “bodies”

and I sit in a corner, watching them.