The Realm of Water

In the vast world without a name

I was bathed, I was deceived;

from thirst you carry deep within you

a thought torn from another world,

a thought asleep inside a stone.

And in the three o’clock sun

the dream between the clouds runs dry;

you descend through foreign windings,

with all the thirst drawn tight within you,

with too much yesterday and tomorrow.

A pale walnut shadow

stands in for escape

when scorching heat begins to tighten

our great sea without salt,

our road without a horizon.

Every movement drives me

to write the senseless earth,

where tears and springs

are lost, seek one another, vanish

through their endless calling —

and carry, without knowing it,

in every drop that dies,

your tiny, boundless thought.