Poem by Jorge Luis Borges

Night assigns the sleeping a task
of witches – the unmaking of this whole world,
its countless branches
of causes and effects, sinking into the circle
of the endless cycle of time.
Night wants you to forget, for one night,
yourself, your origin and your ancestors,
the point unreachable to the minds of geometers,
the line, the plane, the pyramid, the cube,
the cylinder and the sphere, the ocean and its waves,
the pillow beneath your cheek, the thin layer of sheets
so crisp…
the empires, their emperors, Shakespeare
and – the heaviest burden of all – your love.
What a wonder: this rose-petal ring
erases the cosmos, opening a path for chaos.