In an undefined place,
infinite in time,
with blushed leaves at his feet,
or flowers on branches that frame,
will remain a bench.
He will keep among the splinters of his wood
geometrically rational,
the echo of laughter,
conversations started,
exchanges of looks between strangers,
or lovers.
Rest from long or short trips,
the steps of the insects that collide
against the fate of some trees,
that the branches of others look down.
