There are times when I can’t move.
I feel roots of mine everywhere,
as though all things were born of me,
or as though I were born of all things.
All I can do then is to stay still
with eyes open like two faces at the moment of birth,
with a small amount of love in one hand
and something cold in the other.
And all I can give someone passing by me
is that motionless absence
that has roots in him too.
–Roberto Juarroz, Argentina