A loosely transcribed prose poem based on my Spanish poem earlier tonight.

There, something like a stain, was once a sky. Some aberration of smoke and light, of cloud and fire; a threshold. Was it even my decision to intertwine or to blend with destiny? I am governed by the first desire that slithers between two hesitations. I disown the vehicle of my body, the possibility of choice. I raise a hand like another Pessoa to hint a goodbye, but to what? The cloud? The sun that I never knew except for its light?

There was a man that could not continue today, he stood in front of a horizon.

He said: goodbye.

He said: I return to the unknown.