It’s raining. The grass, the sweat, the noise.
Red. Going to look for God in the stadium.
But who am I? A dust in the eye.
The grass under my cleats.
Am I the reflection of a God on the ball?
Harder, faster. The grass. The sky opens to the light.
Corner. Go for the win
The horns invade the night in the city
The stadium shakes. My forehead sweats. I run.
I run away from the noise. The ball bounces on the sun.
Who am I? A God? The sun?
The clouds strangle me.
Am I the spit of an infernal God?
The balloon – further to the right. To the left.
It devours the grass like a white fire
Red. My soaked shirt. The noise.
The spectators blow fire in my face
Black. The ball has disappeared into the streamers.
The rain – I run. Fast. Away. Corner.
My breath in the back of another player’s neck.
Throw me a deluge of ice water
My sweat, I’m hot, I run.
On the ground. The grass. The whistle. Quickly.
The sun wipes my invisible tears?
Someone caressed my cheek?
The sweat. The sprain? Red. Cardboard.
A fine rain falls. The spectators are grumbling
Agony at the end of the match. The din.
I put the goalkeeper in sight. The grass. White.
Russian roulette. Quickly. I run.
Who am I? Already the grass smells of victory
I run. I run again. Further, quickly. Towards the cage.
The stands rise up like a boa constrictor.
The grass sinks under my cleats.
The cage empties. To the left. To the right. Quickly.
The sky empties itself of its sincere Gods.
The light invades the sky. My face.
The victory – Who am I?