On this cold and light-stolen desert,
there will always be a solitary man,
known as a rogue warrior of the past
or the blind prophet of the unwanted,
who will take a dusty track made for him
in memory of an exultant failure.
No one dared to follow him
or even ask about his destination,
for no one has ever truthfully found
the horizon of shifting conscience.
At the end of that invisible road,
something awaits his recurring return
with the void of his former face
draping on his volatile hands.