He wrestles with the idea of the struggle.
He believes his opponent is the world
he imagines inexhaustible.
Believing himself powerless, his own image
is exaggerated, every gesture a minute lost,
until his life is reduced to a night,
the parameter of a bed.
Sleep is his perfection.
But the day, immeasurably long, is the absence
of sleep. An old antagonist, its eyes painfully
familiar, challenged it refuses the challenge,
for sleeplessness is its perfection.