where to be lasts but an instant where every instant
spills in the void the ignorance of having been
without this wave where in the end body and shadow together are engulfed
what would I do without this silence where the murmurs die
the pantings the frenzies towards succour towards love
without this sky that soars above its ballast dust
what would I do what I did yesterday and the day before
peering out of my deadlight looking for another
wandering like me eddying far from all the living
in a convulsive space
among the voices voiceless
that throng my hiddenness
~What would I do without this world, by Samuel Beckett
