Window without railing, without frames, without glass. An opening and nothing beyond, only amplitude. I do not have to wait for a clear night, nor raise his head to look at the sky. The sky I behind, arm and on the eyelids. The sky around me tightly, and lifts me from below. Even the highest mountains, is not as close to heaven, the valleys blends. Nowhere is more sky, that in another. The sky oppresses equally, the clouds and the tombs. The mole is assumed into heaven, as the owl flapping wings. Anything that falls into an abyss, falling from heaven to heaven. Arid, flowing, rocky, inflamed and aerial heavenly places, bits of sky, gusts of heaven and stacks. The sky is everywhere, even in the darkness beneath the skin. I devour the sky and secrete. Are a trap trapped, an inhabitant village, embraced a hug, a question in response to a question. Dividing heaven from earth, you do not think properly, in this totality. Is only one way to live at an address more accurate, easier to find, if they were looking for me. My special signs, are ecstasy and despair.
(Wislawa Szymborska)
http://www.amazon.com/Map-Collected-Poems-Wislawa-Szymborska/dp/0544126025
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