Look at the foliage now,
its audacity to be woven under
the perils of meteors, in the shortlived sunlight.
Its quietude to imprison
a shivering wind.
Lamplights tumor metastasizing on paper skies
eaten by an insistent flame.
Scabs of salt on rubble of rocks.
A shadow loses itself within shadows.
Close to that point
my conviction is running out
like blood from offended face.
Look at the water
it is only a realization of the idea of flowing
and the fish are only a barrier between
the definition of the waves
and the feeling of the sea.
For a moment I didn’t believe this insight
would help me carry
the huge expanses of air.
There, you too are growing distant, as father do, in the smugness
of a satisfied predator
leaving behind the carcass of its prey.

Translated by Katie Ford and the author