I don't know if at this point
I can call height what is an abyss
of uncertainties.
I don't know if I'm going or coming back
or maybe it's getting closer to me same,
as is customary.
And perhaps,
in time I consume myself
and I am smoke upon smoke
from some fire that was not.
I don't know if this is my place,
if place is understood as the invisible axis
of some ferris wheel.
Maybe life is this,
this being inaccessible unknown
against history.
Having the feeling
that without damage there is no joy
confuses me.
Anyway, facing the future,
br/>that old, toothless theory,
I close the door.

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