MISCELLANEOUS

LOST LETTER

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.

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