"The New World Requesting Nothing but Peace."
The sky extracts color like blood into needles.
Our pristine organists have landed again.
And movable towers sat on the backs of donkeys
in the grand ascetic tradition.
If only to break the silence or create new ones
burned with our names.
Only to say we have lived here to be
counted among the missing.
This is the long-awaited continent.
Maps without faces.
Cities without Saints.
No encores.
No deaths to plant.
No momentos hung on the walls like crosses.
You cannot imagine the emptiness,
the Sabbath of fantasy.
Antarctica.
Lunar love.
Future.
Whatever is offered, we will gladly sail over your edge,
willing to suffer pain to go on with ourselves.
No, we will lie down until we can safely dream.
Discover what this place demands of us, what kind of lives
we really lead.