Hunting

I am a nocturnal huntress,

Laid in wait in the underbrush

of the sheet,

immovable aspect,

controlling the breath,

the passage of the ideas,

when they migrate

from the sunset towards South-East

But hunting is a deceit

and a little thought hunts me,

the whole night.

Only in the morning it leaves me,

pale and eyed with empty hands,

huntress full of dreams

sharpened, inescapable

January 2, 2006