was the map of glass

was the rain of sleep

was the inch of linguaphagia

was the gravel in the ear

was the mirror in the finger

was the stone in the lint duct

was the wheel of air

was the eyelid of knives

was the buried door

was the sand in the clouds

was the cup of burning coins

was the pyramid of the echo

was the window in the stranger

was the face dripping in the drugstore

was the ant swimming through the ink

was the sea giggling in a hill

After Ivan Argüelles' “O Vita Fallax”