Metropolitan Association of Upper Silesia and Dąbrowa Basin, Poland | 01 April 2021
On the shores, casks slowly seep out their perfume, bleeding into the earth, into silence. Because what we
were hunting after could not be discovered, because the mind’s life (unlike the heart's, threaded gossamer on a single strand) is fascinated by the knotted roots of things, we sought out fertile motions on sullen shores.
Any water that becomes a stream, flooding lands and muddying walls, any object which splinters into
a million fragments at once, will someday stand stone-still and surrender to the quiet erosion, the soundless wind which rustles the pages of time.
Here on the wasted plains a faded flower suddenly blossoms out.