The maiden’s fright and flight are the sword and the claws.
From her flight and fright the sword is forged and the claws sharpened.
She dies at every moment, therefore she lives.
She flees at every moment, therefore she stays put.
She assimilates force and counterforce, therefore she vacillates.
She vacillates, therefore she is balanced.
Her crown, cloak and folded hands belong to the battle, not to her,
but the battle belongs to her.
It is on her the battle lives:
she is its decoy.
O profound stillness, shrouded in storm!
You are like a doll discarded by a child,
passively complying with what is meaningless!
For the one who sees through the battle you come forward.
For the one who sees through you you disappear,
for he disappears into you:
A gate that opens, a road that winds away.
On that road a lonely figure that recedes.
The same figure that grows distant and disappears,
time and time again the same
that disappears time and time again:
optical illusion and parthenogenesis.