THE LAST DREAM
I have never found you in the water of my dreams. Many times I have dedicated the last thought of wakefulness to you, with the sole hope of seeing you on the other side. But you weren’t able to cross the thin border. Once within my dream, I would separate with my hands the light I had before me, attempting to see you in the distance. Seeking a trace of you, I would crumble each glimmer I caught. I would enter the most distant streets of the city—the city which is every city at once—and I would seek some feature belonging to you on all of the passing faces. This proved to be pointless.
Among these intimate mysteries, perhaps there is one no more impenetrable than that of bodies that we can’t make appear in the water of sleep, despite the strength of that other enigma called desire.