from the article:
Only Poem
Sea with neither name nor shore, endless ocean which I dreamt, infinite and arcane, like space, like times.
I wound its waves, old mother of life, death, as waves perish and emerge reborn. How much dying, how many births inside immortal death!… Playing a game of cradles and graves, she was alone.
Suddenly, a wandering bird crossed the stretch of vertical sea: “Chojé!… Chojé!…” it said, a whining stain flying by.
Then lost in the distance, dripping: “Chojé!… Chojé!…”
I awoke, atop the waves and flew away.