… Floating, as she received so many signs
And, filled with water,
Shoves
The banks of a contour that seems about to explode.
The paper absorbs her.
She hides inside it in search for a little ink.
Pastel powder.
The light of a watercolour.
But if she goes beyond one day,
Beyond the paper,
The drawing she’ll make of herself,
Will become real
For sure.