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LOVE
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IN YOU THE EARTH

Little 
rose, 
roselet, 
at times, 
tiny and naked, 
it seems 
as though you would fit 
in one of my hands, 
as though I'll clasp you like this 
and carry you to my mouth, 
but 
suddenly 
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips: 
you have grown, 
your shoulders rise like two hills, 
your breasts wander over my breast, 
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin 
new-moon line of your waist: 
in love you have loosened yourself like sea water: 
I can scarcely measure the sky's most spacious eyes 
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.





THE QUEEN

I have named you queen. 
There are taller ones than you, taller. 
There are purer ones than you, purer. 
There are lovelier than you, lovelier.

But you are the queen.

When you go through the streets 
no one recognizes you. 
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks 
at the carpet of red gold 
that you tread as you pass, 
the nonexistent carpet.

And when you appear all the rivers sound 
in my body, bells 
shake the sky, and a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I, 
only you and I, my love, 
listen to it.





 THE POTTER

Your whole body has 
a fullness or a gentleness destined for me.

When I move my hand up 
I find in each place a dove 
that was seeking me, as 
if they had, love, made you of clay 
for my own potter's hands.

Your knees, your breasts, 
your waist 
are missing parts of me like the hollow 
of a thirsty earth 
from which they broke off 
a form, 
and together 
we are complete like a single river, 
like a single grain of sand.




SEPTEMBER 8TH

Today, this day was a brimming cup, 
today, this day was the immense wave, 
today, it was all the earth.

Today the stormy sea 
lifted us in a kiss 
so high that we trembled 
in a lightningflash 
and, tied, we went down 
to sink without untwining.

Today our bodies became vast, 
they grew to the edge of the world 
and rolled melting 
into a single drop of wax or meteor.

Between you and me a new door opened 
and someone, still faceless, 
was waiting for us there.




YOUR FEET

When I can not look at your face 
I look at your feet.

Your feet of arched bone, 
your hard little feet.

I know that they support you, 
and that your gentle weight 
rises upon them.

Your waist and your breasts, 
the doubled purple 
of your nipples, 
the sockets of your eyes 
that have just flown away, 
your wide fruit mouth, 
your red tresses, 
my little tower.

But I love your feet 
only because they walked 
upon the earth and upon the wind and upon 
the waters, 
until they found me.




YOUR HANDS

When your hands go out, 
love, toward mine, 
what do they bring me flying? 
Why did they stop 
at my mouth, suddenly, 
why do I recognize them 
as if then, before, 
I had touched them, 
as if before they existed 
they had passed over 
my forehead, my waist?

Their softness came 
flying over time, 
over the sea, over the smoke, 
over the spring, and when you placed 
your hands on my chest, 
I recognized those golden
dove wings, 
I recognized that clay 
and that color of wheat.

All the years of my life 
I walked around looking for them. 
I went up the stairs, 
I crossed the roads, 
trains carried me, 
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes 
I thought I touched you. 
The wood suddenly 
brought me your touch, 
the almond announced to me 
your secret softness, 
until your hands 
closed on my chest 
and there like two wings 
they ended their journey.




YOUR LAUGHTER

Take bread away from me, if you wish, 
take air away, but 
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose, 
the lanceflower that you pluck, 
the water that suddenly 
bursts forth in your joy, 
the sudden wave 
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back 
with eyes tired 
at times from having seen 
the unchanging earth, 
but when your laughter enters 
it rises to the sky seeking me 
and it opens for me all 
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest 
hour your laughter 
opens, and if suddenly 
you see my blood staining 
the stones of the street, 
laugh, because your laughter 
will be for my hands 
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn, 
your laughter must raise 
its foamy cascade, 
and in the spring, love, 
I want your laughter like

the flower I was waiting for, 
the blue flower, the rose 
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night, 
at the day, at the moon, 
laugh at the twisted 
streets of the island, 
laugh at this clumsy 
boy who loves you, 
but when I open 
my eyes and close them, 
when my steps go, 
when my steps return, 
deny me bread, air, 
light, spring, 
but never your laughter 
for I would die.




THE FICKLE ONE

My eyes went away from me 
following a dark girl who went by.

She was made of black mother-of-pearl, 
made of dark-purple grapes, 
and she lashed my blood 
with her tail of fire.

After them all
I go.

A pale blonde went by 
like a golden plant 
swaying her gifts. 
And my mouth went 
like a wave 
discharging on her breast 
lightningbolts of blood.

After them all 
I go.

But to you, without my moving, 
without seeing you, distant you, 
go my blood and my kisses, 
my dark one and my fair one, 
my tall one and my little one, 
my broad one and my slender one, 
my ugly one, my beauty,

made of all the gold 
and of all the silver, 
made of all the wheat 
and of all the earth, 
made of all the water 
of the sea waves, 
made for my arms, 
made for my kisses, 
made for my soul.




NIGHT ON THE ISLAND

All night I have slept with you 
next to the sea, on the island. 
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep, 
between fire and water.

Perhaps very late 
our dreams joined 
at the top or at the bottom, 
up above like branches moved by a common wind, 
down below like red roots that touch.

Perhaps your dream 
drifted from mine 
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before, 
when you did not yet exist, 
when without sighting you 
I sailed by your side, 
and your eyes sought 
what now- 
bread, wine, love, and anger- 
I heap upon you 
because you are the cup 
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.

I have slept with you 
all night long while 
the dark earth spins 
with the living and the dead, 
and on waking suddenly 
in the midst of the shadow 
my arm encircled your waist.

Neither night 
nor sleep could separate us.

I have slept with you 
and on waking, your mouth, 
come from your dream, 
gave me the taste of earth, 
of sea water, of seaweed, 
of the depths of your life, 
and I received your kiss 
moistened by the dawn 
as if it came to me 
from the sea that surrounds us.




WIND ON THE ISLAND

The wind is a horse: 
hear how he runs 
through the sea, through the sky.

He wants to take me: listen 
how he roves the world 
to take me far away.

Hide me in your arms 
just for this night, 
while the rain breaks 
against sea and earth 
its innumerable mouth.

Listen how the wind 
calls to me galloping 
to take me far away.

With your brow on my brow, 
with your mouth on my mouth, 
our bodies tied 
to the love that consumes us, 
let the wind pass 
and not take me away.

Let the wind rush 
crowned with foam, 
let it call to me 
and seek me galloping in the shadow, 
while I, sunk 
beneath your big eyes, 
just for this night 
shall rest, my love.




THE INFINITE ONE

Do you see these hands? They have measured 
the earth, they have separated 
minerals and cereals, 
they have made peace and war, 
they have demolished the distances 
of all the seas and rivers, 
and yet, 
when they move over you, 
little one, 
grain of wheat, swallow, 
they can not encompass you, 
they are weary seeking 
the twin doves 
that rest or fly in your breast, 
they travel the distances of your legs, 
they coil in the light of your waist. 
For me you are a treasure more laden 
with immensity than the sea and its branches 
and you are white and blue and spacious like 
the earth at vintage time. 
In that territory, 
from your feet to your brow, 
walking, walking, walking, 
I shall spend my life.




LOVELY ONE

Lovely one, 
just as on the cool stone 
of the spring, the water 
opens a wide flash of foam, 
so is the smile of your face, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, 
with delicate hands and slender feet 
like a silver pony, 
walking, flower of the world, 
thus I see you, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, 
with a nest of copper entangled 
on your head, a nest 
the color of dark honey 
where my heart burns and rests, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, 
your eyes are too big for your face, 
your eyes are too big for the earth.

There are countries, there are rivers,
in your eyes, 
my country as In your eyes, 
I walk through them, 
they light the world 
through which I walk, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, 
your breasts are like two loaves made 
of grainy earth and golden moon, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, 
your waist, 
my arm shaped it like a river when 
it flowed a thousand years through your sweet body, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, 
there is nothing like your hips, 
perhaps earth has 
in some hidden place 
the curve and the fragrance of your body, 
perhaps in some place, 
lovely one.

Lovely one, my lovely one, 
your voice, your skin, your nails, 
lovely one, my lovely one, 
your being, your light, your shadow, 
lovely one, 
all that is mine, lovely one, 
all that is mine, my dear, 
when you walk or rest, 
when you sing or sleep, 
when you suffer or dream, 
always, 
when you are near or far,
always, 
you are mine, my lovely one, 
always.




THE STOLEN BRANCH

In the night we shall go in 
to steal 
a flowering branch.

We shall climb over the wall 
in the darkness of the alien garden, 
two shadows in the shadow.

Winter is not yet gone, 
and the apple tree appears 
suddenly changed 
into a cascade of fragrant stars.

In the night we shall go in 
up to its trembling firmament, 
and your little hands and mine 
will steal the stars.

And silently, 
to our house, 
in the night and the shadow, 
with your steps will enter 
perfume's silent step 
and with starry feet 
the clear body of spring.




THE SON

Ah son, do you know, do you know 
where you come from?

From a lake with white 
and hungry gulls.

Next to the water of winter 
she and I raised 
a red bonfire 
wearing out our lips 
from kissing each other's souls, 
casting all into the fire, 
burning our lives.

That's how you came into the world.

But she, to see me 
and to see you, one day 
crossed the seas 
and I, to clasp 
her tiny waist, 
walked all the earth, 
with wars and mountains, 
with sands and thorns.

That's how you came into the world.

You come from so many places, 
from the water and the earth, 
from the fire and the snow, 
from so far away you journey 
toward the two of us, 
from the terrible love 
that has enchained us,

that we want to know 
what you're like, what you say to us, 
because you know more 
about the world we gave you.

Like a great storm 
we shook 
the tree of life 
down to the hiddenmost 
fibers of the roots 
and you appear now 
singing in the foliage, 
in the highest branch 
that with you we reach.




THE EARTH

The green earth has yielded 
to everything yellow, gold, harvests, 
farms, leaves, grain, 
but when autumn rises 
with its spacious banner 
it is you that I see, 
for me it is your hair 
that separates the tassels.

I see the monuments 
of ancient broken stone, 
but if I touch 
the stone scar 
your body responds to me, 
my fingers recognize suddenly, shivering, 
your warm sweetness.

I pass among the heroes 
recently decorated 
by the earth and the dust 
and behind them, silent, 
with your tiny steps, is it you or not you? 
Yesterday, when they pulled up 
by the roots, to have a look at it, 
the old dwarf tree, 
I saw you come out looking at me 
from the tortured 
and thirsty roots.

And when sleep comes 
to stretch me out and take me 
to my own silence 
there is a great white wind 
that destroys my sleep 
and from it fall leaves, 
they fall like knives 
upon me, draining me of blood.

And each wound has 
the shape of your mouth.




ABSENCE

I have scarcely left you 
when you go in me, crystalline, 
or trembling, 
or uneasy, wounded by me 
or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes 
close upon the gift of life 
that without cease I give you.

My love, 
we have found each other 
thirsty and we have 
drunk up all the water and the blood, 
we found each other 
hungry 
and we bit each other 
as fire bites, 
leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me, 
keep for me your sweetness. 
I will give you too 
a rose.




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DESIRE
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THE TIGER

I am the tiger. 
I lie in wait for you among leaves 
broad as ingots 
of wet mineral.

The white river grows 
beneath the fog. You come.

Naked you submerge. 
I wait.

Then in a leap of fire, blood, teeth, 
with a claw slash I tear away 
your bosom, your hips.

I drink your blood, I break 
your limbs one by one.

And I remain watching 
for years in the forest 
over your bones, your ashes, 
motionless, far 
from hatred and anger, 
disarmed in your death, 
crossed by lianas, 
motionless in the rain, 
relentless sentinel 
of my murderous love.




THE CONDOR

I am the condor, I fly 
over you who walk 
and suddenly in a wheeling 
of wind, feather, claws, 
I assault you and I lift you 
in a whistling cyclone 
of hurricaned cold.

And to my tower of snow, 
to my dark eyrie 
I take you and you live alone, 
and you cover yourself with feathers 
and you fly above the world, 
motionless on the heights.

Female condor, let us pounce 
upon this red prey, 
let us tear life 
that passes throbbing 
and lift together 
our wild flight.




THE INSECT

From your hips to your feet 
I want to make a long journey.

I am smaller than an insect.

I go along these hills, 
they are the color of oats, 
they have slender tracks 
that only I know, 
burnt centimeters, 
pale perspectives.

Here there is a mountain. 
I'll never get out of it. 
Oh what giant moss! 
And a crater, a rose 
of dampened fire !

Down your legs I come 
spinning a spiral 
or sleeping en route 
and I come to your knees 
of round hardness 
as to the hard peaks 
of a bright continent.

I slide toward your feet, 
to the eight openings 
of your sharp, slow, 
peninsular toes, 
and from them to the void 
of the white sheet 
I fall, seeking blind 
and hungry your contour 
of burning cup!




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THE FURIES
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Love

What's wrong with you, with us, 
what's happening to us? 
Ah our love is a harsh cord 
that binds us wounding us 
and if we want 
to leave our wound,
to separate, 
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us 
to drain our blood and burn together.

What's wrong with you? I look at you 
and I find nothing in you but two eyes 
like all eyes, a mouth 
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful, 
a body just like those that have slipped 
beneath my body without leaving any memory.

And how empty you went through the world 
like a wheat-colored jar 
without air, without sound, without substance! 
I vainly sought in you 
depth for my arms 
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth: 
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes, 
nothing, 
beneath your double breast scarcely 
raised 
a current of crystalline order 
that does not know why it flows singing. 
Why, why, why, 
my love, why?




ALWAYS

Facing you I am not jealous.

Come with a man 
at your back, 
come with a hundred men in your hair, 
come with a thousand men between your bosom and your feet, 
come like a river 
filled with drowned men 
that meets the furious sea, 
the eternal foam, the weather.

Bring them all 
where I wait for you: 
we shall always be alone, 
we shall always be, you and I, 
alone upon the earth 
to begin life.




THE SLIP

If your foot slips again, 
it will be cut off.

If your hand leads you 
to another road 
it will rot away.

If you take your life from me 
you will die 
even though you live.

You will go on dead or shade, 
walking without me on the earth,




THE QUESTION

Love, a question 
has destroyed you.

I have come back to you 
from thorny uncertainty.

I want you straight as 
the sword or the road.

But you insist 
on keeping a nook 
of shadow that I do not want.

My love, 
understand me, 
I love all of you, 
from eyes to feet, to toenails, 
inside, 
all the brightness, which you kept.

It is I, my love, 
who knocks at your door. 
It is not the ghost, it is not 
the one who once stopped 
at your window. 
I knock down the door: 
I enter all your life: 
I come to live in your soul: 
you can not cope with me.

You must open door to door, 
you must obey me, 
you must open your eyes 
so that I may search in them,

you must see how I walk 
with heavy steps 
along all the roads 
that, blind, were waiting for me.

Do not fear, 
I am yours, 
but 
I am not the passenger or the beggar, 
I am your master, 
the one you were waiting for, 
and now I enter 
your life, 
no more to leave it, 
love, love, love, 
but to stay.




THE WASTER

I chose you among all women 
so that you would repeat 
on earth 
my heart that dances with tassels 
or fights without quarter when necessary.

I ask you, where is my son?

Wasn't I expecting myself in you, recognizing myself 
and saying to myself: "Call me to come upon the earth 
to continue your fights and your songs"?

Give me back my son!

Have you forgotten him in the doors 
of pleasure, oh enemy 
waster, 
have you forgotten that you came to this tryst, 
the deepest one, that one 
in which we two, united, will go on saying 
through his mouth, my love, 
ah everything 
that we did not manage to tell each other?

When I lift you up in a wave 
of fire and blood, and life 
doubles between us, 
remember 
that someone calls to us 
as no one has ever called to us

and that we do not answer 
and we are left lonely and cowardly 
before the life that we deny.

Waster, 
open the doors, 
and in your heart let 
the blind knot 
loosen and fly 
with your blood and mine 
through the world!




THE HURT

I have hurt you, my dear, 
I have torn your soul.

Understand me. 
Everyone knows who I am, 
but that "I am" 
is besides a man 
for you.

In you I waver, fall 
and rise up burning. 
You among all beings 
have the right
to see me weak. 
And your little hand 
of bread and guitar 
must touch my breast 
when it goes off to fight.

That's why I seek in you the firm stone. 
Harsh hands I sink in your blood 
seeking your firmness 
and the depth that I need, 
and if I find 
only your metallic laughter, if I find 
nothing on which to support my harsh steps 
adored one, accept 
my sadness and my anger, 
my enemy hands 
destroying you a little 
so that you may rise from the clay 
refashioned for my struggles.




THE WELL

At times you sink, you fall 
into your hole of silence, 
into your abyss of proud anger, 
and you can scarcely 
return, still bearing remnants 
of what you found 
in the depth of your existence.

My love, what do you find 
in your closed well? 
Seaweed, swamps, rocks? 
What do you see with blind eyes, 
bitter and wounded?

Darling, you will not find 
in the well into which you fall 
what I keep for you on the heights: 
a bouquet of dewy jasmines, 
a kiss deeper than your abyss.

Do not fear me, do not fall 
into your rancor again. 
Shake off my word that came to wound you 
and let it fly through the open window. 
It will return to wound me 
without your guiding it 
since it was laden with a harsh instant 
and that instant will be disarmed in my breast.

Smile at me radiant 
if my mouth wounds you. 
I am not a gentle shepherd 
like the ones in fairy tales, 
but a good woodsman who shares with you 
earth, wind, and mountain thorns.

Love me, you, smile at me, 
help me to be good. 
Do not wound yourself in me, for it will be useless, 
do not wound me because you wound yourself.




THE DREAM

Walking on the sands 
I decided to leave you.

I was treading a dark clay 
that trembled 
and I, sinking and coming out, 
decided that you should come out 
of me, that you were weighing me down 
like a cutting stone, 
and I worked out your loss 
step by step: 
to cut off your roots, 
to release you alone into the wind.

Ah in that minute, 
my dear, a dream 
with its terrible wings 
was covering you.

You felt yourself swallowed by the clay, 
and you called to me and I did not come, 
you were going, motionless, 
without defending yourself 
until you were smothered in the quicksand.

Afterwards 
my decision encountered your dream, 
and from the rupture 
that was breaking our hearts 
we came forth clean again, naked, 
loving each other 
without dream, without sand, 
complete and radiant, 
sealed by fire.




IF YOU FORGET ME

I want you to know 
one thing.

You know how this is: 
if I look 
at the crystal moon, at the red branch 
of the slow autumn at my window, 
if I touch 
near the fire 
the impalpable ash 
or the wrinkled body of the log, 
everything carries me to you, 
as if everything that exists, 
aromas, light, metals, 
were little boats that sail 
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now, 
if little by little you stop loving me 
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly 
you forget me 
do not look for me, 
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad, 
the wind of banners 
that passes through my life, 
and you decide 
to leave me at the shore 
of the heart where I have roots, 
remember 
that on that day,

at that hour, 
I shall lift my arms 
and my roots will set off 
to seek another land.

But 
if each day, 
each hour, 
you feel that you are destined for me 
with implacable sweetness, 
if each day a flower 
climbs up to your lips to seek me, 
ah my love, ah my own, 
in me all that fire is repeated, 
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, 
my love feeds on your love, beloved, 
and as long as you live it will be in your arms 
without leaving mine.




OBLIVION

All of love in a goblet 
as wide as the earth, all 
of love with stars and thorns 
I gave you, but you walked 
with little feet, with dirty heels 
upon the fire, putting it out.

Ah great love, small beloved!

I did not stop in the struggle. 
I did not stop marching toward life, 
toward peace, toward bread for all, 
but I lifted you in my arms 
and I nailed you to my kisses 
and I looked at you as never 
again will human eyes look at you.

Ah great love, small beloved!

You did not then measure my stature, 
and the man who for you put aside 
blood, wheat, water, 
you confused him 
with the little insect that fell into your skirt.

Ah great love, small beloved!

Do not expect that I will look back at you 
in the distance, stay 
with what I left you, walk about 
with my betrayed photograph,

I shall go on marching, 
opening broad roads against the shadow, making 
the earth smooth, spreading 
the star for those who come.

Stay on the road. 
Night has fallen for you. 
Perhaps at dawn 
we shall see each other again.

Ah great love, small beloved!




GIRLS

You girls who were seeking 
the great love, the great and terrible love, 
what has happened, girls?

Perhaps 
time, time!

Because now, 
here it is, see how it passes 
dragging the heavenly stones, 
destroying flowers and leaves, 
with a noise of foam lashed 
against all the stones of your world, 
with a smell of sperm and jasmine, 
next to the bleeding moon!

And now 
you touch the water with your little feet, 
with your little heart 
and you do not know what to do !

Better are 
certain night journeys, 
certain compartments, 
certain most amusing walks, 
certain dances with no greater consequence 
than to continue the journey!

Die of fear or of cold, 
or of doubt,

for I with my huge steps 
will find her, 
within you 
or far from you, 
and she will find me, 
she who will not tremble in the face of love, 
she who will be fused 
with me 
in life or death!




YOU WOULD COME

You have not made me suffer, 
merely wait.

Those tangled 
hours, filled 
with serpents, 
when 
my heart stopped and I stifled, 
you would come along, 
you would come naked and scratched, 
bleeding you would reach my bed, 
my bride, 
and then 
all night we walked 
sleeping 
and when we woke up 
you were intact and new, 
as if the dark wind of dreams 
had newly given 
fire to your tresses 
and in wheat and silver had submerged 
your body and left it dazzling.

I did not suffer, my love, 
I was only waiting for you. 
You had to change heart
and vision 
after having touched the deep 
sea zone that my breast gave to you. 
You had to leave the water 
pure as a drop raised 
by a night wave.

My bride, you had 
to die and be born, I was waiting for you. 
I did not suffer looking for you, 
I knew that you would come, 
a new woman with what I adore 
out of the one that I did not adore, 
with your eyes, your hands, and your mouth 
but with another heart, 
who was beside me at dawn 
as if she had always been there 
to go on with me forever.




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LIVES
_____________________________________________




THE MOUNTAIN AND THE RIVER

In my country there is a mountain. 
In my country there is a river.

Come with me.

Night climbs up to the mountain. 
Hunger goes down to the river.

Come with me.

Who are those who suffer? 
I do not know, but they are my people.

Come with me.

I do not know, but they call to me 
and they say to me: "We suffer."

Come with me.

And they say to me: "Your people, 
your luckless people, 
between the mountain and the river, 
with hunger and grief, 
they do not want to struggle alone, 
they are waiting for you, friend."

Oh you, the one I love, 
little one, red grain 
of wheat,

the struggle will be hard, 
life will be hard, 
but you will come with me.




POVERTY

Ah you don't want to, 
you're scared 
of poverty, 
you don't want 
to go to the market with worn-out shoes 
and come back with the same old dress.

My love, we are not fond 
as the rich would like us to be, 
of misery. We 
shall extract it like an evil tooth 
that up to now has bitten the heart of man.

But I don't want 
you to fear it. 
If through my fault it comes to your dwelling, 
if poverty drives away 
your golden shoes, 
let it not drive away your laughter which is my life's bread. 
If you can't pay the rent 
go off to work with a proud step, 
and remember, my love, that I am watching you 
and together we are the greatest wealth 
that was ever gathered upon the earth.




LIVES

Ah how ill at ease sometimes 
I feel you are 
with me, victor among men!

Because you do not know 
that with me were victorious 
thousands of faces that you can not see, 
thousands of feet and hearts that marched with me, 
that I am not, 
that I do not exist, 
that I am only the front of those who go with me, 
that I am stronger 
because I bear in me 
not my little life 
but all the lives, 
and I walk steadily forward 
because I have a thousand eyes, 
I strike with the weight of a rock 
because I have a thousand hands 
and my voice is heard on the shores 
of all the lands 
because it is the voice of all 
those who did not speak, 
of those who did not sing 
and who sing today with this mouth 
that kisses you.





THE FLAG

Stand up with me.

No one would like 
more than I to stay 
on the pillow where your eyelids 
try to shut out the world for me. 
There too I would like 
to let my blood sleep 
surrounding your sweetness.

But stand up, 
you, stand up, 
but stand up with me 
and let us go off together 
to fight face to face 
against the devil's webs, 
against the system that distributes hunger, 
against organized misery.

Let's go, 
and you, my star, next to me, 
newborn from my own clay, 
you will have found tile hidden spring 
and in the midst of the fire you will be
next to me, 
with your wild eyes, 
raising my flag.




THE SOLDIER'S LOVE

In the midst of war life led you 
to be the soldier's love.

With your poor silk dress, 
your costume jewelry nails, 
you were chosen to walk through the fire.

Come here, vagabond, 
come and drink on my breast 
red dew.

You didn't want to know where you were going, 
you were the dancing partner, 
you had no Party, no country.

And now walking at my side 
you see that life goes with me 
and that behind us is death.

Now you can't dance any more 
with your silk dress in the ballroom.

You'll wear out your shoes, 
but you'll grow on the march.

You have to walk on thorns 
leaving little drops of blood.

Kiss me again, beloved.




NOT ONLY THE FIRE

Ah yes, I remember, 
ah your closed eyes 
as if filled from within with black light, 
your whole body like an open hand, 
like a white cluster from the moon, 
and the ecstasy, 
when a lightningbolt kills us, 
when a dagger wounds us in the roots, 
and a light strikes our hair, 
and when 
again we gradually 
return to life, 
as if we emerged from the ocean, 
as if from the shipwreck 
we returned wounded 
among the stones and the red seaweed.

But 
there are other memories, 
not only flowers from the fire
but little sprouts 
that suddenly appear 
when I go on trains 
or in the streets.

I see you 
washing my handkerchiefs, 
hanging at the window 
my worn-out socks, 
your figure on which everything, 
all pleasure like a flare-up, 
fell without destroying you, 
again,

little wife 
of every day, 
again a human being, 
humbly human, 
proudly poor, 
as you have to be in order to be 
not the swift rose 
that love's ash dissolves 
but all of life, 
all of life with soap and needles, 
with the smell that I love 
of the kitchen that perhaps we shall not have 
and in which your hand among the fried potatoes 
and your mouth singing in the winter 
until the roast arrives 
would be for me the permanence 
of happiness on earth.

Ah my life, 
it is not only the fire that burns between us 
but all of life, 
the simple story, 
the simple love 
of a woman and a man 
like everyone.




THE DEAD WOMAN

If suddenly you do not exist, 
if suddenly you are not living, 
I shall go on living.

I do not dare, 
I do not dare to write it, 
if you die.

I shall go on living.

Because where a man has no voice, 
there, my voice.

Where blacks are beaten, 
I can not be dead. 
When my brothers go to jail 
I shall go with them.

When victory, 
not my victory 
but the great victory
arrives, 
even though I am mute I must speak: 
I shall see it come even though I am blind.

No, forgive me. 
If you are not living, 
if you, beloved, my love, 
if you 
have died,
all the leaves will fall on my breast, 
it will rain upon my soul night and day, 
the snow will burn my heart, 
I shall walk with cold and fire and death and snow, 
my feet will want to march toward where you sleep, 
but 
I shall go on living, 
because you wanted me to be, above all things, 
untamable, 
and, love, because you know that I am not just one man 
but all men.




LITTLE AMERICA

When I look at the shape 
of America on the map, 
my love, it is you I see: 
the heights of copper on your head, 
your breasts, wheat and snow, 
your slender waist, 
swift throbbing rivers, sweet 
hills and meadows 
and in the cold of the south your feet end 
its geography of duplicated gold.

love, when I touch you 
not only have my hands 
explored your delight 
but boughs and lands, fruits and water, 
the springtime that I love, 
the desert moon, the breast 
of the wild dove, 
the smoothness of stones worn away 
by the waters of the sea or the rivers 
and the red thickness 
of the bush where 
thirst and hunger lie in wait. 
And thus my spacious country welcomes me, 
little America, in your body.

Still more, when I see you lying down 
I see in your skin, in your oaten color, 
the nationality of my affection. 
Because from your shoulders 
the cane cutter 
of blazing Cuba 
looks at me, covered with dark sweat,

and from your throat 
fishermen who tremble 
in the damp houses of the shore 
sing to me their secret. 
And so along your body, 
little adored America, 
the lands and the peoples 
interrupt my kisses 
and your beauty then 
not only lights the fire 
that burns unquenched among us 
but with your love it is calling to me 
and across your life 
it is giving me the life that I lack 
and to the taste of your love is added the clay, 
the kiss of the earth that waits for me.




_____________________________________________

ODE AND BURGEONINGS
_____________________________________________





I

The taste of your mouth and the color of your skin, 
skin, mouth, fruit of these swift days, 
tell me, were they always beside you 
through years and journeys and moons and suns 
and earth and weeping and rain and joy 
or is it only now that 
they come from your roots, 
only as water brings to the dry earth 
burgeonings that it did not know, 
or as to the lips of the forgotten jug 
the taste of the earth rises in the water?

I don't know, don't tell me, you don't know. 
Nobody knows these things. 
But bringing all my senses close 
to the light of your skin, you disappear, 
you melt like the acid 
aroma of a fruit 
and the heat of a road, 
and the smell of corn being stripped, 
the honeysuckle of the pure afternoon, 
the names of the dusty earth, 
the infinite perfume of our country: 
magnolia and thicket, blood and flour, 
the gallop of horses, 
the village's dusty moon, 
newborn bread: 
ah from your skin everything comes back to my mouth, 
comes back to my heart, comes back to my body, 
and with you I become again 
the earth that you are: 
you are deep spring in me: 
in you I know again how I am born.

2

Years of yours that I should have felt 
growing near me like clusters 
until you had seen how the sun and the earth 
had destined you for my hands of stone, 
until grape by grape you had made 
the wine sing in my veins. 
The wind or the horse 
swerving were able 
to make me pass through your childhood, 
you have seen the same sky each day, 
the same dark winter mud, 
the endless branching of the plum trees 
and their dark-purple sweetness. 
Only a few miles of night, 
the drenched distances 
of the country dawn, 
a handful of earth separated us, the transparent 
walls 
that we did not cross, so that life, 
afterward, could put all 
the seas and the earth 
between us, and we could come together 
in spite of space, 
step by step seeking each other, 
from one ocean to another, 
until I saw that the sky was aflame 
and your hair was flying in the light 
and you came to my kisses with the fire 
of an unchained meteor 
and as you melted in my blood, the sweetness 
of the wild plum 
of our childhood I received in my mouth, 
and I clutched you to my breast as 
if I were regaining earth and life.

3

My wild girl, we have had 
to regain time 
and march backward, in the distance 
of our lives, kiss after kiss, 
gathering from one place what we gave 
without joy, discovering in another 
the secret road 
that gradually brought your feet close to mine, 
and so beneath my mouth 
you see again the unfulfilled plant 
of your life putting out its roots 
toward my heart that was waiting for you. 
And one by one the nights 
between our separated cities 
are joined to the night that unites us. 
The light of each day, 
its flame or its repose, 
they deliver to us, taking them from time, 
and so our treasure 
is disinterred in shadow or light, 
and so our kisses kiss life: 
all love is enclosed in our love: 
all thirst ends in our embrace. 
Here we are at last face to face, 
we have met, 
we have lost nothing. 
We have felt each other lip to lip, 
we have changed a thousand times 
between us death and life, 
all that we were bringing 
like dead medals 
we threw to the bottom of the sea, 
all that we learned 
was of no use to us: 
we begin again,

we end again 
death and life. 
And here we survive, 
pure, with the purity that we created, 
broader than the earth that could not lead us astray, 
eternal as the fire that will burn 
as long as life endures.

4

When I reached here my hand stops. 
Someone asks: "Tell me, why, like waves 
on a single coast, do your words 
endlessly go and return to her body? 
Is she the only form that you love?" 
And I answer: "My hands never tire 
of her, my kisses do not rest, 
why should I withdraw the words 
that repeat the trace of her beloved contact, 
words that close, uselessly 
holding like water in a net 
the surface and the temperature 
of the purest wave of life?" 
And, love, your body is not only the rose 
that in shadow or moonlight rises, 
it is not only movement or burning, 
act of blood or petal of fire, 
but to me you have brought 
my territory, the clay of my childhood, 
the waves of oats, 
the round skin of the dark fruit 
that I tore from the forest, 
aroma of wood and apples, 
color of hidden water where secret 
fruits and deep leaves fall. 
Oh love, your body rises 
like the pure line of a goblet

from the earth that knows me 
and when my senses found you 
you throbbed as though within you 
rain and seeds were falling. 
Ah let them tell me how 
I could abolish you 
and let my hands without your form 
tear the fire from my words. 
My gentle one, rest 
your body in these lines that owe you 
more than you give me through your touch, 
live in these words and repeat 
in them the sweetness and the fire, 
tremble amid their syllables, 
sleep in my name as you have slept 
upon my heart, and so tomorrow 
my words will keep 
the hollow of your form 
and he who hears them one day will receive a gust 
of wheat and poppies; 
the body of love will still 
be breathing upon earth!

5

Thread of wheat and water, 
of crystal or of fire, 
word and night, 
work and anger, 
shadow and tenderness, 
little by little you have sewn it all 
into my threadbare pockets, 
and not only in the tremorous zone 
in which love and martyrdom are twins 
like two fire bells, 
did you wait for me, my love,
but in the tiniest 
sweet duties. 
The golden oil of Italy made your nimbus, 
saint of kitchen and sewing, 
and your tiny coquetry, 
that tarried so long at the mirror, 
with your hands that have 
petals that jasmine would envy, 
washed the dishes and my clothes, 
disinfected wounds. 
My love, to my life 
you came prepared 
as a poppy and as a guerrilla fighter: 
silken is the splendor that I stroke 
with the hunger and thirst 
that I brought to this world only for you, 
and behind the silk 
the girl of iron 
who will fight at my side. 
Love, love, here we are. 
Silk and metal, come close to my mouth.

6

And because Love fights 
not only in its burning agriculture 
but in the mouths of men and women, 
I shall end up by attacking 
those who between my breast and your fragrance 
try to interpose their dark foot. 
They will tell you nothing 
worse about me, my love, 
than what I told you. 
I lived in the meadows 
before I knew you 
and I did not wait for love but lay 
in ambush and jumped upon the rose.

What more can they tell you? 
I am not good or bad, just a man, 
and they will then add the danger 
of my life, which you know 
and which with your passion you have shared. 
Well, this danger is 
danger of love, of complete love 
toward all of life, 
toward all lives, 
and if this love brings 
death or prison, 
I am sure that your big eyes, 
as when I kiss them, 
will then close with pride, 
with double pride, my love, 
with your pride and mine. 
But toward my ears they will first come 
to undermine the tower 
of the sweet and harsh love that binds us, 
and they will say: "That one 
that you love 
is no woman for you, 
why do you love her? I think 
you could find one more beautiful, 
more serious, more profound, 
more other, you understand, look at her how flighty, 
and what a head she has, 
and look at her how she dresses 
and so on and on." 
And I in these lines say: 
thus I love you, love, 
love, thus I love you, 
thus as you dress 
and as your hair 
lifts up and as 
your mouth smiles,

light as the water 
from the spring upon the pure stones, 
thus I love you, beloved. 
Of bread I do not ask that it teach me 
but that it not fail me 
during each day of life. 
I know nothing of light, where 
it comes from or where it goes, 
I only want light to light, 
I do not ask explanations 
of the night, 
I wait for it and it envelops me, 
and thus you are, bread 
and light and shadow. 
You came into my life 
with what you brought, 
I waited for you, 
made of light and bread and shadow, 
and thus I need you, 
thus I love you, 
and all those who want to hear tomorrow 
what I shall not tell them, let them read it here, 
and let them retreat today because it's too early 
for these arguments. 
Tomorrow we shall give them only 
a leaf from the tree of our love, a leaf 
that will fall upon the earth 
as if our lips had made it, 
like a kiss that falls 
from our invincible heights 
to show the fire and the tenderness 
of a true love.




_____________________________________________

EPITHALAMIUM
_____________________________________________




Do you remember when
in winter 
we reached the island? 
The sea raised toward us 
a crown of cold. 
On the walls the climbing vines 
murmured letting 
dark leaves fall 
as we passed. 
You too were a little leaf 
that trembled on my chest. 
Life's wind put you there. 
At first I did not see you: I did not know 
that you were walking with me, 
until your roots 
pierced my chest, 
joined the threads of my blood, 
spoke through my mouth, 
flourished with me. 
Thus was your inadvertent presence, 
invisible leaf or branch, 
and suddenly my heart 
was filled with fruits and sounds. 
You occupied the house 
that darkly awaited you 
and then you lit the lamps. 
Do you remember, my love, 
our first steps on the island? 
The gray stones knew us, 
the rain squalls, 
the shouts of the wind in the shadow. 
But the fire was 
our only friend, 
next to it we hugged
the sweet winter love 
with four arms. 
The fire saw our naked kiss grow 
until it touched hidden stars, 
and it saw grief be born and die 
like a broken sword 
against invincible love. 
Do you remember, 
oh sleeper in my shadow, 
how sleep would grow 
in you, 
from your bare breast 
open with its twin domes 
toward the sea, toward the wind of the island, 
and how I in your dream sailed 
free, in the sea and in the wind 
yet tied and sunken 
in the blue volume of your sweetness? 
Oh sweet, my sweet, 
spring changed 
the island's walls. 
A flower appeared like a drop 
of orange blood, 
and then the colors discharged 
all their pure weight. 
The sea reconquered its transparency, 
night in the sky 
outlined its clusters 
and now all things murmured 
our name of love, stone by stone 
they said our name and our kiss. 
The island of stone and moss 
echoed in the secret of its grottoes 
like the song in your mouth, 
and the flower that was born 
between the crevices of the stone
with its secret syllable 
spoke, as it passed, your name 
of blazing plant 
and the steep rock, raised 
like the wall of the world, 
knew my song, well beloved, 
and all things spoke of 
your love, my love, beloved, 
because earth, time, sea, island, 
life, tide, 
the seed that half opens 
its lips in the earth, 
the devouring flower, 
the movement of spring, 
everything recognizes us. 
Our love was born 
outside the walls, 
in the wind, 
in the night, 
in the earth, 
and that's why the clay and the flower, 
the mud and the roots
know your name, 
and know that my mouth
joined yours 
because we were sown together in the earth 
and we alone did not know it 
and that we grow together 
and flower together 
and therefore 
when we pass, 
your name is on the petals 
of the rose that grows on the stone, 
my name is in the grottoes. 
They know it all, 
we have no secrets,
we have grown together 
but we did not know it. 
The sea knows our love, the stones 
of the rocky height 
know that our kisses flowered 
with infinite purity, 
as in their crevices a scarlet 
mouth dawns: 
just as our love and the kiss 
that joins your mouth and mine 
in an eternal flower. 
My love, 
sweet spring, 
flower and sea, surround us. 
We did not change it 
for our winter, 
when the wind 
began to decipher your name 
that today at all hours it repeats, 
when 
the leaves did not know 
that you were a leaf, 
when 
the roots 
did not know that you were seeking me 
in my breast. 
Love, love,
spring 
offers us the sky, 
but the dark earth
is our name, 
our love belongs 
to all time and the earth. 
Loving each other, my arm 
beneath your neck of sand,
we shall wait 
as earth and time change 
on the island, 
as the leaves fall 
from the silent climbing vines, 
as autumn departs 
through the broken window. 
But we 
are going to wait for 
our friend, 
our redeyed friend, 
the fire, 
when the wind again 
shakes the frontiers of the island 
and does not know the names 
of everyone, 
winter 
will seek us, my love, 
always 
it will seek us, because we know it, 
because we do not fear it, 
because we have 
with us 
fire 
forever, 
we have 
earth with us 
forever, 
spring with us 
forever, 
and when a leaf 
falls 
from the dimbing vines, 
you know, my love, 
what name is written 
on that leaf,
a name that is yours and mine, 
our love name, a single 
being, the arrow 
that pierced winter, 
the invincible love, 
the fire of the days, 
a leaf 
that dropped upon my breast, 
a leaf from the tree 
of life 
that made a nest and sang, 
that put out roots, 
that gave flowers and fruits. 
And so you see, my love, 
how I move 
around the island, 
around the world, 
safe in the midst of spring, 
crazy with light in the cold, 
walking tranquil in the fire, 
lifting your petal
weight in my arms 
as if I had never walked 
except with you, my heart, 
as if I could not walk 
except with you, 
as if I could not sing 
except when you sing.




_____________________________________________

LETTER ON THE ROAD
_____________________________________________




Farewell, but you will be 
with me, you will go within 
a drop of blood circulating in my veins 
or Outside, a kiss that burns my Face 
or a belt of fire at my waist. 
My sweet, accept 
the great love that came out of my life 
and that in you found no territory 
like the explorer lost 
in the isles of bread and honey. 
I found you after 
the storm, 
the rain washed the air 
and in the water 
your sweet feet gleamed like fishes.

Adored one, I am off to my fighting.

I shall scratch the earth to make you a cave 
and there your Captain 
will wait for you with flowers in the bed. 
Think no more, my sweet, 
about the anguish 
that went on between us 
like a bolt of phosphorous 
leaving us perhaps its burning. 
Peace arrived too because I return 
to my land to fight, 
and as I have a whole heart 
with the share of blood that you gave me 
forever,

and as 
I have 
my hands filled with your naked being, 
look at me, 
look at me, 
look at me across the sea, for I go radiant, 
look at me across the night through which I sail, 
and sea and night are those eyes of yours. 
I have not left you when I go away. 
Now I am going to tell you: 
my land will be yours, 
I am going to conquer it, 
not just to give it to you, 
but for everyone, 
for all my people. 
The thief will come out of his tower some day. 
And the invader will be expelled. 
All the fruits of life 
will grow in my hands 
accustomed once to powder. 
And I shall know how to touch the new flowers gently 
because you taught me tenderness. 
My sweet, adored one, 
you will come with me to fight face to face 
because your kisses live in my heart 
like red banners, 
and if I fall, not only 
will earth cover me 
but also this great love that you brought me 
and that lived circulating in my blood. 
You will come with me, 
at that hour I wait for you, 
at that hour and at every hour, 
at every hour I wait for you. 
And when the sadness that I hate comes 
to knock at your door,
tell her that I am waiting for you 
and when loneliness wants you to change 
the ring in which my name is written, 
tell loneliness to talk with me, 
that I had to go away 
because I am a soldier, 
and that there where I am, 
under rain or under
fire, 
my love, I wait for you. 
I wait for you in the harshest desert 
and next to the flowering lemon tree, 
in every place where there is life, 
where spring is being born, 
my love, I wait for you. 
When they tell you: " That man 
does not love you," remember 
that my feet are alone in that night, and they seek 
the sweet and tiny feet that I adore. 
Love, when they tell you 
that I have forgotten you, and even when 
it is I who say it, 
when I say it to you, 
do not believe me, 
who could and how could anyone 
cut you from my heart 
and who would receive 
my blood 
when I went bleeding toward you? 
But still I can not 
forget my people. 
I am going to fight in each street, 
behind each stone. 
Your love also helps me: 
it is a closed flower
that constantly fills me with its aroma 
and that opens suddenly 
within me like a great star.

My love, it is night.

The black water, the sleeping 
world surround me. 
Soon dawn will come, 
and meanwhile I write you 
to tell you: " I love you." 
To tell you " I love you," care for, 
clean, lift up, 
defend 
our love, my darling. 
I leave it with you as if I left 
a handful of earth with seeds. 
From our love lives will be born. 
In our love they will drink water. 
Perhaps a day will come 
when a man and a woman, like
us,
will touch this love and it will still have the strength 
to burn the hands that touch it. 
Who were we? What does it matter? 
They will touch this fire and the fire, 
my sweet, will say your simple name 
and mine, the name 
that only you knew, because you alone 
upon earth know 
who I am, and because nobody knew me like one, 
like just one hand of yours, 
because nobody 
knew how or when 
my heart was burning:
only your great dark eyes knew, 
your wide mouth, 
your skin, your breasts, 
your belly, your insides, 
and your soul that I awoke 
so that it would go on 
singing until the end of life.

Love, I am waiting for you. 
Farewell, love, I am waiting for you. 
Love, love, I am waiting for you.

And so this letter ends 
with no sadness: 
my feet are firm upon the earth, 
my hand writes this letter on the road, 
and in the midst of life I shall be 
always 
beside the friend, facing the enemy, 
with your name on my mouth 
and a kiss that never 
broke away from yours.