we walk towards the word
which is on the horizon
elevated like a lighthouse by the sea
around is a perpetual night
cold closed without stars
we walk thirsty
with a desire for help
the knees wear out on the way
the back is bent in the way
and when we get to that primitive structure that is the word
we arrive being others, the same,
we have lost some friends along the way
parents, lovers, pets, jobs
and we've gained a new wrinkle-crossed face
without surprise we see that a hand is shaking
that our legs flicker with cold
we go up with the slowness of age
the spiral staircase of the lighthouse
we are now inside the word
but soon we know we'll be over it
when
we finally arrived
at the head of the lighthouse
we look at the landscape with pleasure
we eagerly seek the color the aroma the texture of the sea
without vanity without fear without courage we discover
what from the first steps
despite ourselves we suspected
there is no sea
there are other headlights
bigger
brighter
more long
but by then
we no longer have strength
to keep walking
and we went down the spiral staircase
and we no longer go out
we don't want to get out of that word
to which it took us a lifetime to get to
we stay there
we huddle there
hugging ourselves
and there we imagine the color the sound
the texture
the beauty of the sea that we never saw.