by Marcello Comitini
Is the space between branch and branch, between leaf and leaf an essential part of the tree? Does it make sense to break her fronds? In the movement of existence that pushes her to fill the void the sap germinates in new branches. But they will bloom against the bare walls of nowhere without invading the space. Only my gaze, fruit of solitude it can fill it. Being empty I can give it a name. I spread my arms and I call it incomprehensible nothing, elusive sky light in the dawn fire of the sunset eye of the god incarnate. At my scream the void becomes the weaving of branches acquires consistency and scent of leaves. In the compactness of the texture achieved I recognize the divine nature of emptiness the most intimate essence of the tree.