The city I don't know

Through the window, opaque glass of my eyes,
the city exists, I don't know it,
I can't reach it with my hands.

That cluster of ruins that reveal the old republic,
the strange recipe, ancient, lost.
That which is not invoked in the form of men.
Footprints beneath other indelible footprints.
The other window where I observe the routine
from a position ungrateful toward things.

I have said:
I wanted to preserve the word,
the possibility of the storm.
The point stripped of the norms
beyond the utopia I invent,
and before the background, the absurd position of the figures,
the soul of the beasts I do not traverse