@bochini

I cut the branches: I knew it was in vain, Root, in the darkness, perseveres; and time—that craftsman of blindness— turns what is near into cold marble. I followed paths of human rumor, while the crowd, turned into wood, and my reason—light, perhaps a chimera— sank into the ineffable and the distant. I was a cipher in a repeated mirror, I knew nothing of love or destiny; I found oblivion in the pale marble. Today I am the shadow of my own fate; if anything endures, it will be what I have lived, which returns like a clandestine book.

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