& no. XXIV

XXIV.on a rough crossing of Lake BaikalI am inside a water dropleton the glass of my actual ferryfollowing in its saltwater course itsodddistorted horizonon a rough crossing of Lake BaikalI can’t wait to tell you simpler thingshow the wind is gone round to the Eastbringing cooler air anda drop of four degreeson a rough crossing leave by the fast clockreturn by the slowcrossing suicide noteswhy not death threatsPiglia writes on Pavesethat the purpose of the diaryis to make suicidepossiblethat smell of morals and lyricswhen poetry if it exists at all it is at the oral limitwe count the stones on the beachwhat nation what beautiful wasevery stoneone by onewe count the elementsthe void spacetimelekton which is for Emmanuel Levinaspoetry andon its horizon