The woman became a cave,
the humidity within
turned her smooth skin
into a ruin.
Today the tourists arrive to observe her.
They caress her struggle against time
and her noble resolve to live in the cold.
They touch her grottos secretly
hoping for shelter within the stone:
an ancient understanding of history,
a claroscuro limit to their fear.
Harm doesn't dissolve in renown,
the limestone doesn't dilute in their visits,
the beginning is final,
the tourists move on.
There are no women without light
or houses without windows.