They all speak of his desire to sleep.
They all have something of sleep, lack doubtless this desire, sliding on their faces, their eyes drained of insomnia.
He said the desire to sleep where the years to come, already sunk. The passage of time in the night so long as an envelope dropped behind you-drowned, time is the floating of dreamless sleep, we say so often dark and deep.
he said, and one brother. Already he was almost asleep and you do not know, sleep. He wants more. Absorbed in sleep until it disappeared, becoming, at night or the abyss. He is probably asleep, or his desire, the brother. He said it would be almost forgotten, until no longer even know it There was a day of memories, that sort of need to remember, as if it was not already dead.
In the night the world was suspended, arrested on himself, and he got lost in the dark that nothing can disturb,-the-absence. The brother's absence a little face. The look that gets lost, strayed too far so that we can re-enter.
Sometimes he sees at night and it penetrates. The night has not married her.
He says again, let me sleep. He is the brother who aspires to disappear.
The other, already is, he always hits the night. He lives, he die-to sleep, yet he who does not know sleep. He waits until the days constantly recur and blend. It lets them disappear. He lives in the passage of time.
The memory ran out, dried out, as a relic that eventually reach the land where craquèlent debris of a tomb. His face
killed in silence.
It is itself the absence and oblivion.
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