oh gift of self, your hair,
white speech,blue design,
I could sing a song
so I am suspected of smoke,
in air, and of an animal
carved amid foam
in long, light, bursts of
a harp’s laughter.
I could bring memories to the heart
like fingernails falling off the soul.
But I am almost at the border of your body,
But your nakedness has come to the foot of the furrow
dressed in its suit of profundity;
The sea ponders your age
and blind dolphins in branches turn pale in the sky above,
the sky weighs more with less air
a waterless sea with only its waves.
And on the landscape’s edge you tremble
ah, deepsea fisherman of foam
whose hips grow amid coral beads,
fleeting companion of my side.