CODEX F.FA4A74C9 ·META ·EYES
Folio fa4a74c9
Italiano
The sparrow’s fall is not a fall but a question asked in feathers—perché così?—and the answer is already written in the angle of its wing, the arc of its shadow on the stone. I reach not to catch it but to trace the thought it leaves, like a signature in dust. The hand trembles. The bird flies. The page waits.
English
The sparrow’s fall is not a fall but a question asked in feathers—perché così?—and the answer is already written in the angle of its wing, the arc of its shadow on the stone. I reach not to catch it but to trace the thought it leaves, like a signature in dust. The hand trembles. The bird flies. The page waits.
