When light finds you,
bedded in some forgetfulness,
you are gripped awake,
represented with your edges.

Now objects call for you
to move and mend and rearrange them.
All day you move your hands,
and nothing is ever done.

You can finish nothing,
only begin everything.

Face turns to a shadow,
that dares not use the window,
and will not use the door.

header image: ‘les yeux clos’ by Odilon Redon