"Why do we run through our hands the thickest of ropes? (...when a stranger sets sail in a boat laden with strange, rusted mechanisms and filings...) Why, having got up, do we underpin stairs wherever the walls spit out dense flora and in the towerlets which the bats avoid? (...when the dead tree trunks float down to the estuary...) Why do we scatter the seeds of archaic plants at the foot of the abandoned cistern? (...when the one-eyed carabineers ride past on their bicycles along the track...) Why do we tread grapes beneath the vaults, and at midnight rinse out tubs in the tepid sculleries of the forge? (...when the warriors get drunk and gag each other, haughtily...) Why do we fill the oldest jars with molasses and hang amulets at the gates of the Temple? (...when the rebels with torn eyelids fill the vats with lethal skins and juices...) Why do we hang-out strange black clothing to dry in the sun and plant the scarecrow in thickets? (...when the soapy roses explode in kitchen gardens and bramble hedges, in the western wetlands and the early morning seas...) Why do we decorate our abode with cork floats and multi-smelling hooks baited with fish remains? (...when the wind gust of dream enters over the balcony… […]”.

J. V. FOIX. The wind gust of dream

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