I was alone with a chair on a plain 
Which lost itself in an empty horizon. 

The plain was flawlessly paved. 
Nothing, absolutely nothing but the chair and I 
were there. 

The sky was forever blue, 
No sun gave life to it. 

An inscrutable, insensible light 
illuminated the infinite plain. 

To me this eternal day seemed to be projected -- 
artificially-- from a different sphere. 

I was never sleepy nor hungry nor thirsty, 
never hot nor cold. 

Time was only an abstruse ghost 
since nothing happened or changed. 

In me Time still lived a little 
This, mainly, thanks to the chair. 

Because of my occupation with it 
I did not completely 
lose my sense of the past. 

Now and then I'd hitch myself, as if I were a horse, to the chair 
and trot around with it, 
sometimes in circles, 
and sometimes straight ahead. 

I assume that I succeeded. 

Whether I really succeeded I do not know 
Since there was nothing in space 
By which I could have checked my movements. 

As I sat on the chair I pondered sadly, but not desperately, 
Why the core of the world exuded such black light.