The black ink that dance on paper
guarantees the eternity of those contests
the object and cool dancer.
(I thought at one time, or simply
I pretended to be assumed).
The ink of any color,
and paper or iron,
where he enrolled,
passing slight like the fingers,
full of intent ,and how
the sound of the cuckoo, three times repeated.
In the silence that follows perhaps none
respond, since they do not know
that there was a sound, a truth, a first…