Each one weaves its own nests with the threads of its own life. 

 

Threads with which we knitt our nests

in a transparent way

allowing to see through

what we want, what we have said and done.

 

A material record with personal form

as an uncertain but sustaining armor. 

A continuous and endless suspense.

 

 

There are threads that become chains

and nests that become caves.

 

 

But there are threads of light and certainty

that give us peace

that hold us strong.

​

There are softer threads than happiness

and stronger than absence. 

 

Without these threads, my God,

Who would dare to make a nest?

 

 

evu