“Es la ilusión de fijeza de una estrella que ya no está allí, en el libro enigmático de lo celeste, pero que ha dejado abandonada su incandescencia.” (Carlos Vásquez, Eclipse de sol) Witness an unnamed sunset reenact obliviousness. Every night is the one night but countless new suns it does bring. The one sun that dawns on the flower of the thinking corpse. Time in the form of a sphere. Fertile light is shed over the sea as flames devour its newborn pulse. Pyres of ancestors in homage of origins ignite the end of history. Death, vanquished by the first light, returning as the blaze of a last light. The echoing silence of God in the laughter of an infant, the ageless fascination of rebellion in the eyes of youth, and this aching blood that bears the spell of time.