I flew out of the shadows and climbed up to your breast, and without knowing it, I flew up to the Tower of Wheat, and rushed into the life of your hands, and from the ocean to your joy.

No one can calculate my debt to you, love, my debt to you is clear and transparent, as if it were from the roots of Jarauco, ah my debt to you, love.

All I owe to thee is undoubtedly, like the stars, and my indebtedness to thee is like a well in the moor, where time watches over the wandering lightning.

Where are you, Mathilde? I see a sadness down there, under my tie, above my heart, between my ribs, how quickly you disappear.

I need the radiance of your vitality, I look around and devour hope. I gaze at the emptiness of yours less, like a room, with nothing but the window of sorrow.

The ceiling silently listens to the fall of the ancient, leafless rain, to the feathers, to all that the night has imprisoned: I wait for you like a lonely room, until you will see me again and live in my heart. While waiting, my window kept hurting.

The heavy rain from the south fell on the black island like a unique drop, clear and heavy, the sea opened its cool leaves to receive, and the earth learned how the wine glass fulfilled its damp fate.

O my soul, please give me in your kiss the salty water of these months, the honey of the fields, the fragrance wet by the thousand lips of the sky, the sacred patience of the winter sea.

Something beckons to us, all the doors open of their own accord, the rain tells rumors to the windows, and the sky grows beneath the clouds. Until they reach the roots, and the days weave and break the web of heaven, with time, salt, whispers, growth, paths, a woman, a man, and the winter on earth.

Love. Winter has returned to camp. The earth dotted with its yellow gifts, and we caressed the distant lands while touching the hair of the earth.

Leave! Now! Departure: Wheels, Boats. Clock. A plane enhanced by endless daylight – the scent of marriage to the archipelago. Joyful long grains!

Let's go, stand up, and tuck your hair back. Take off, land, run with me and sing with the atmosphere: let's take the train to Arabia or Tokobia -

It's just like the migration of pollen from afar—to the rags and thorny villages of the jaw flowers ruled by the poor barefoot kings.

There are houses, seas, and flags. We strolled past other long fences. We couldn't find the door, we couldn't find the sound when we weren't there—it was like dead.

After most of the house opened its silence, we entered, stepping over the waste, dead rats, empty goodbyes, weeping water in the pipes.

Weeping, this house—weeping, day and night, it hides itself, whimpering with the spider, it falls apart, from its dark eyes.

Now, all of a sudden, we're bringing it back to life. We dwell in it, and it doesn't recognize us: it has to bloom, but it forgets how.

Today is today, carrying all the weight of the past, and the wings of everything that will be tomorrow, today is the south of the sea, the old age of the water, and the completion of a new day.

The petals of the exhausted day gather on your mouth, held high to the light, to the moon, and yesterday we are reminded of your departed face as we hurried down the dark path.

Today, yesterday, tomorrow passes, like a burning calf being exhausted in a day, our herd waits, and the days are numbered, but time has sprinkled flour in your heart, and my love has made a furnace out of the clay of Taimoko: you are the daily bread of my soul.

I didn't never again, and I never always did. Victory in the sand, leaving its vanished footprints. I am poor, willing to love my own kind. I don't know who you are. I love you. I don't give away or sell thorns.

Perhaps someone will know that I did not weave a blood-stained crown, that I resisted ridicule and teasing, and that I did make my soul orgasm. I repay ugliness with pigeons.

I don't have never, because I'm different from everyone else – I was, I am, and I still am. In the name of ever-changing love, I declare innocence.

Death is nothing but a forgotten stone. I love you, and in your mouth I kiss with joy. Let's gather firewood and make a fire on the mountain.

In the night, beloved, bind your heart to mine, so that the two hearts may work together in a dream to repel the darkness, like a double-sided drum beating against a thick wall of damp leaves in the forest.

Night Travel: The black flames of sleep cut through the thin threads of grapes on earth, ready like a frantic train that constantly drags shadows and cold rocks.

So, beloved, bind me to a purer movement, to the steadfastness of thy bosom flapping with the wings of the swan under the water, that our sleep may answer the question of the sparkle of the starry sky with the only key, a door closed by shadows.

Beloved, I return from my travels and sorrows back to your voice, back to your hand on the guitar, back to disturbing the autumn fire with kisses, back to the night that swirls in the sky.

I pray for bread and sovereignty for the people of the world, I pray for the fields for the workers with a bright future, and I hope that no one will ask me to stop my blood or sing. But I can't turn away from your love until death comes.

Play a waltz of this quiet moonlight, a boat song, in the running water of the guitar, until my head hangs down, and I fall asleep: for I have woven the shelter of this grove with the sleeplessness of my life—where thy hand dwells, and flutters, for the sleeping traveler to keep vigil.

Now you belong to me. Resting in my dreams. Love, pain, and work should sleep peacefully now. The night turns its invisible axle, and you are as pure as sleeping amber beside me.

My dear, no one else will sleep peacefully in my dreams. You will be gone, and we will go together, across the ocean of time. No one will walk through the shadows with me, except you, evergreen, eternal sun, eternal moon.

Your hands have opened their thin fists to let their softly floating gestures fade, your eyes are closed like two gray wings, and I follow behind, letting the folded waves of your surge carry me away. At night, the world is in the world, and the wind weaves their fate. Without you, I'm your dream, that's all, that's it, that's it.

Beloved, when we close the door of the night, follow me, my love, through the shadows...

Goodbye, goodbye, the cruel light that fell into the sack of the past every day. Goodbye, every ray of light from a watch or orange. Hello, Oh shadows, my intermittent friend!

In this ship or water or death or new life, we are united again, asleep, resurrected, we are the marriage of the night in the blood. I don't know who lives and who dies, who rests and who is awake, but I know that the way is your heart, and the grace of the dawn is distributed to my breast.

O Southern Cross, oh fragrant and shining axle grass, your beauty shoots a fourfold kiss today, through the shadows and through my hat, and the moon swirls in the cold.

And then, with my love and my beloved, O frost-blue diamonds, the clarity of the night sky, the mirror: you appeared, and the night was full of your four wine-scented cellars.

Ah, the smooth, pure silver light of the throbbing fish, the green cross, the brightly shadowed parsley, the fireflies fixed in the pure sky:

Come and rest with me, and let us close our eyes together. Sleep with the night in the world, just a minute. Light up your star-studded four numbers on me.

When I die, I want you to put your hands on my eyes: I want the light and wheat of your kind hands to refresh me again: I want to experience the tenderness that changes my destiny.

I want you alive while I sleep waiting for you. I want your ears to still listen to the wind, I want you to smell the scent of the sea we have loved together, and continue to walk on the sand we walked.

I want all that I love to live, and you—I love and sing to you above all else—I want you to continue to flourish and bloom, so that you can reach all the places where my love directs you, so that my shadow can wander between your hair, so that all things can understand why I sing. (To be continued......)