A door opens. There is a kind of animal, with a deep gaze.
In its eye caves the look can be lost — the deepest darkness there inhabits.
It pounces over a person sat in a grass armchair, who does not get upset.

A red room,
a long wide vision from nowhere to nowhere.

In the wet carpet the animal lies down.
The door closes;
there is no door, there is no person, no animal, no walls, no room.

A hot red tone.
Observing its own immensity; the eyes, the infinity, the universe … .

A hot red tone;
… alone.

A hand appears out of nowhere, closes and opens; the vision is tending to fade.

A red dream which tends to the darkness.

In the centre a point of light is dilating more and more.

It’s possible to see from an incalculable height,
figures dancing, every detail fully sketched.
Their movements seem ruled by some kind of order, their passivity seems ruled by some kind of chaos — maybe it’s the opposite.

A light spots one of such figures; nothing is producing the light, nobody is seeing it either.
Figures drawn in some parchment situated in no place: letters.
That spotted figure is giving sense to the other figures, but it has no sense.
That figure raises its hand, the others figures look up.
There is nothing, but they see something.

The blue of the sky is being tinted of red
the clouds are passing at high velocity
then passing again and again
all the same.

Over and over again the same forms are drawn.
It does not stop.
A procession which is contemplated infinitely; its end is awaited,
thought it cannot happen, ’cause there was no beginning.
The observant figures change, yet the same stay there.

In thousands of abyss others realities are being drawn:
rooms with no doors,
the windows are shuttered,
the sound of the wind through the walls.

On the floor of all such rooms a kind of animal lies down.
A grass armchair, a sort of empty world.

Is there a play between such beings?
Maybe only expectation?

The dream vanishes.