THE BLUE ROOM
The sound of the sea even reached the room: a metallic sound. That dazzling steel or aluminum covered the elements of waiting like a film. The gazes lost in the reflection’s lines, words trapped in the barbed-wire fence, the black beating of the canned heart. Here, life is divided by the pace of a fan’s blades. Seeing. Barely glimpsing. Time is a wind barely moving the blank page on which I will never write your name.