Luna

The woman desired the moon. She spent each night on the chimneys and roof tiles, observing the far sky. Of the moon she dreamed the candor, the soft glow, the mystery that its forms would keep: she admired its flying over the air and disappearing at dawn, delicate and silent as at sunset it appeared.

One night, sailing over the sea, she saw its reflex on the ocean, so black as black was the sky. She stretched out her arm from the prow to reach it. The index and the middle brushed the reflection, pinching on the glittering sphere.

From the waves she pulled it out, and on her finger it sat up. White and impenetrable as a pearl, it told the woman of heaven, of the void, of the thousand secrets of the universe.