Soon I will return to the alive air of the night, untied from the routine and the damned one to get up early. I will go out without course to explore idlly and curiously cities and mountains, and souls and disturbances. In the deep, deep night, I will feel the cold wind on the face, again, and will be able to get lost for the dark alleys of trapicheo and cats and garbage and kitchen windows where it goes out a mellow smoke and noises of homes, noises of another world. Devour his city, and allow me to hunt butterflies of dream between the neons to reveal them in brainy meetings of alcohol and poetry in some garret with office.
And out the roofs, already quite chimneys and moon and in a mess oneiric that calls me. Again and again, it is called me this dark metropolis. Because only I sit down I live to another side of the blinds of your hot homes, alone I sit down being a night ... being sorry the rain to wet my clothes and to refresh my face, me taking off but resigning wrinkles! Yes, this rain, this storm that with his thunder terrifies you in your bed! I dare to live there out, jumping the roofs and contemplating the city from the railings of some Bohemian roof where already nobody lives and tables and chairs oxidize as a coffee deprived of some house of Paris!
Before it was searching, now probably I stroll around. Because probably the response is that there is no question. I lifted the challenge of knowing that it schemes it goes deeply into the stars and into the dreams, into the life, and I knew that it was the cosmos feeling to yes same. But I long mas for life, or to come out death and life and to come to the absolute one.