I have seen the sea rise
from the grazing crests and poor white houses motionless in the blue.
I have seen in the deep cliff the turquoise of the seaweed trembling in the sun’s thousand stars and in the foaming path that spreads down to the valley the breath of time.
Here, it is the return to infinite sweetness, to the ancient voice.
Perhaps one thing is the memory that remains. Perhaps only the memory.
To kneel
is all I’d wish, with faith, and to touch and clasp in my hands this damp earth.
If only I could weep with a child’s tears or hear the reed bed’s lament.
But the black crow has already drunk the dew of my soul at yesterday’s dawn and I no longer find in your tired eyes the smile of my spring.
