Memento vitae
The breeze purifies
the reflection of Cassiopeia
over the hours of nihil:
to beat the wings in the emptiness
(like an insect aware
of the finitude that overwhelms)
will never save you.
Neither did Penelope find
(when she ignored with arrogance
the beauty in black and white
of ascetic sunsets)
the word that redeems
with lights and blood.
Further away,
(where you are no longer)
the peace.