English

 

I own

 

a silver syllable, under the tongue,

 to invoke your name.

 

 

 

Under the Amazement of the Fig Tree

 

I will follow the amazement of the fig tree,

 with a big basket

 -to pick its dark fruit –

 I will go with my juniper crown,

 under the clearness of the mist,

 I will be losing myself

 slowly sinking

 until completely,

 I become so lonely and far

                              as an outline…

 

 

What a Ferocious Sorrow

 

 

That uneasiness resting inside you

 that time extended and short.

 Sweetness that filled your heart

perfect chaos still shining in the shadow.

 

The city of lights

 

 

staircases to heaven... the splending gardens

which I sketched for you,

are frontiers now.

 

Oh… what a difficult confusion

 what ferocious sorrow

 

 

Talking About Love

 

Talking about love, as we talk about God,

in a light dark evening,

watching the boys walk 

a Sunday in the middle of two thousand twelve

under a place…

At the frame of a dark door.

 

Talking about love, and not about sex

or about idle reproduction

and therefore criminal and absurd.

 

Talking about love, and not the way

my neighbors talk about these matters.

 

Talking about love, that we look passing

like a shooting star that shudders

into the ocean of the sky.

 

 

I Wish I Were the Wind, Love

 

Love, I wish I were the wind to go in your quest

to quench in your perfume

under your clothes

but you run away like a deer

with scared eyes

and you have sealed your heart

cause you proceed like a fool.

There is a firewood in your eyes

that draws my name

though you deny me the glass of your navel,

 the silk of your eyebrows,

or that strong hug of your body.

 

 

Love, in this valley of shadows

I am alone.

I search among the trees

of the four seasons

close to the araucaria tree

and wild lilacs

I search in the ivory sand

in the salt of the bubbles

I am looking for love,

with such hope

that waiting hurts me deep inside.

I wish I were wind, love

 

I wish I were wind

to come and surprise you

right in your bed

 

and tie your hands out 

and tie your hands in.

 

Arranged is the table for the banquet,

love, where the glasses are waiting

overflowing with wine,

 

fresh wine, but from old harvests

made for the delight

of your tongue and my tongue 

until the drizzle 

of a coming summer

makes your shoes happy

 

 

Through the Gardens of Mogador

 

We crossed cities, 

fields of daisies and far oceans

we visited castles and domes

and watermark columns

 

Through the Gardens of Mogador,

among admirable fonts

through the aslept city 

tangled to your hugs,

in front of me, passionate.

I became entranced with tears,

under a hat of birds, 

redeemed from shadows.

 

A million golden birds

 

Ribboned was – I – by the sun at five o’clock, under the clearness of the sky, your voice quoted Poe, the raven of grisly eyes looked at me, she was also happy, and the memory of god treasured her binnacle, her essay of bougainvilleas and hopes.

 

-Ribboned was I by the clearest light, shaking the tame trade of poet, sat- there-, in front of the event of life.