Camera

I am black and precise. I have no sentiments.

Whatever I see I capture immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by joy or sorrow.

I am not dishonest, only memorable,

The power of a little god, four-cornered.

Most of the time I seize on a stand.

It is black, with three-legs. I have been on it so long

I think it is part of my heart. But it expands.

Hands and intentions unite us over and over.

 

Now I am a dream. A woman ponders me,

Searching my reaches for what events really took place.

Then she turns to those lies, stories or imaginary fantasies.

I see what she wonders, and contemplate them curiously.

She rewards me with a disarray of thoughts.

I am important to her. She comes and she goes.

Each night it is her cogitations that replaces the emptiness.

In me she has lost a young girl, and in me an old woman

Creeps toward her day after day, like a frightful nightmare.