_ _ _
An arrow pierces the universe.
It doesn't matter who shot it.
It crosses equally fluid and solid,
visible and invisible.
Trying to figure out where it's going would be
like imagining a wall around nothing.
Arrow from the anonymous to the anonymous,
from a void that isn't its origin
toward another void that isn't its destination.
Movement not resembling movement
but ecstasy constantly renewed.
I find the arrow in your hand
or you find it in my thought.
I can see it entering a cloud,
cutting a bird in two,
emerging from flowers and rains,
splitting a blindness,
penetrating the dead.
Perhaps its model anonymity
summons us to our own anonymity,
to be able also to liberate ourselves
from our beginning and our end.
- Roberto Juarroz, tr. by Mary Crow