In my small and clear life,
I draw a circle,
On the floor, with wind.
In it I put myself, my body.
I am afraid, of the uncircled world,
The emptiness, the lack of borders,
In my circle I have all I want,
A car, a job, a wife, a dog.
The mind however, it’s always looking,
Probing the horizon, like a hawk,
Like a tower, like a master.
I see that and I can’t move,
That little circle of wind is now a tornado,
And I am right in its eye.