A note has been lost.
We do not know the compass nor the scale,
but the work dissolves towards the west
like an arrow brushed by a feather as it passes.
A line has strayed.
We do not know the figure nor the picture
but the image is headed towards the margin
like a festival into whose center a black fruit falls.
A color has been wiped out.
I do not know know in what zone or what would
but this irreparable almost nothing is a
wound in everything forever.