|
|
|
When they navigated even till late
the light from inside superimposed
the sharp sequin of another sun
on the opaque step, identical, surrounding
the restless arms, the surprise
just forseen but still painful.
Against the cold salt felt under their feet
and the deepest darkness, against the sleepy
rough noise of rope and wood
against the pains of hunger and the faint lament
of a dull longing, against solitude
without a mirror, the gluttony never satisfied, the fear
- against everything a passion fought
so new in them, misty in former days,
which is to see, to see with open eyes
until you feel in the rustling of fingers
the smallest landscape, more total
than the dull mountains native and exchanged:
the clutching of the sail, the slow fish
suddenly appearing, unknown flowers,
purulent colours, vast and scarce space
for strident birds open
to another greater life,
and still mist
they do not know if it is in this or another dream.
Depois de Ver |
|
|
|