CODEX F.EA745080 ·META ·EYES
Folio ea745080
Italiano
The heron stands in the canal’s still mirror, one leg lifted like a compass drawing a circle it will not close. The water holds him perfectly; the world does not. I reach for my notebook—ink dries slower here than in Milan—and the tremor in my hand is a small storm against the page’s calm. Ecco. The bird does not know he is both hunter and ornament. Neither do I.
English
The heron stands in the canal’s still mirror, one leg lifted like a compass drawing a circle it will not close. The water holds him perfectly; the world does not. I reach for my notebook—ink dries slower here than in Milan—and the tremor in my hand is a small storm against the page’s calm. Ecco. The bird does not know he is both hunter and ornament. Neither do I.
