Isabel Dunas
Accent I begin to write Invent myself again Dwell in ink Dwell in the instant in which I write My fingers trace the line of time This line in which I dwell in myself and lose myself My fingers lead words of sand Break the matter and sinuously Transform it As the wind does with dunes As the water does with stones I begin to read myself Dwell in the ghost of my previous flight Dwell in the lunar remains of night already consummated Elusive night of my first youth Filled with joyous non-harmonies Today I can’t manage to get drunk on its bluish songs Don’t want to get lost in its magnetic deserts No longer take communion with the poison of its ambrosia I begin to miss myself Don’t dwell in myself Don’t reach myself Crawl along graphemes Cling to the proximity of the last breath Of the last syllable Look for what is more real than any gesture I may find myself in the intervals I go forward so ethereally Can’t reach myself Hurry calligraphy “Lascia ch’io pianga” in my ear And all the universal density against my breast I begin to feel myself Allow myself to become with each accent Find myself there In the place where I give back to the word
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