The Plain

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.