ERRANT FAITH

The factory closed, and he found himself wandering like a duck through the city streets.

After so much searching, he had become quite the expert: everything he saw opened up a fan of possibilities that wouldn’t let him sleep.

He had gathered a mountain of experiences and wanted to share them with the world. But autumn began to dim the light of the evenings, the wind gave him headaches, and the chill of the nights made his fingertips tingle. And in that weather, all he could think about was hiding inside a chestnut shell.

He asked himself about the meaning of his discoveries… Maybe it was art, maybe chance… Or maybe the world was placing before him a handful of poems meant to be read with his hands.

Because of all that — and for other reasons only he knows — he began looking for shelter. He wanted a space to share, a place to hide on stormy days, and to make poetry with his hands.

And he found an abandoned factory from an old world, reborn as a workshop where the lights turned on, the curtain rose, frayed ropes hung between the wings, and behind the curtains, a voice whispered: They’re watching you!

And without saying a word, as always, he started once again to play — to reorder his life. From his dreamlike universe, in the silence of thought, with feelings on edge and knees scraped by emotion.