The eyes trace a path
towards the light,
beyond time,
towards the infinite face
where God did shelter

and where we want to find you again.

Wood is a gesture,
the stroke written by the veins
and a sculpted wave,
a vegetal skin,
where spreads, the earth,
the chant of the water
and the pulse of the colour.
The root lifts the shadow
and the hot daytime sky
lingers in the matter
to speak your name.
The shapes of the restless wind
interpret the images of the dream.
The hands are a haven
where I learn to invoke you.

Carles Duarte i Montserrat
Poet and linguist