He was immersed in his knowledge, his sorrow, his glory

like being in an ancient sarcophagus. We all stood by him

with our dedication or our envy — irrelevant —

          we stood by him.

At some time one of us leaned over him

as he was smiling with closed eyes

in a tyrannizing and secret light of his own he said:

you, who taught us not to forget, you forgot of us;

therefore we shall forget of you too. And then, him,

took his right, dead leg out of the casket

as if he was stepping on the stirrups of a horse and

he vanished riding the light. We didn’t cry at all;

we knew that he would return to us again from a different

road, perhaps less great and perhaps more ours.