Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit

The shadow is all one, the skythrobs now along with the ocean,and sky and shadow eruptin the crash of their vast conflict.All night long they struggle;nobody knows the nameof the harsh light that keeps slowly openinglike a languid fruit.So on the coast comes to light,out of seething shadow, the harsh dawn,gnawed at by the moving…

the white figure, that piercesthe motionless eternity of earth,pushing at clear, faint, form,till the hour strikes: that clay,with a white ray, or a spur of milk.Shedding of clothing, the thick darkness of soil,on whose cliff the fair flower advances,till the flag of its whitenessdefeats the contemptible deep of night,and, from the motion of light,spills itself…

next to a rusted old machine.Some day I’ll join him right there,but now he’s gone with his shaggy coat,his bad manners and his cold nose,and I, the materialist, who never believedin any promised heaven in the skyfor any human being,I believe in a heaven I’ll never enter.Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdomwhere…

yo seguiré viviendo.No me atrevo,no me atrevo a escribirlo,si te mueres.Yo seguiré viviendo.Porque donde no tiene voz un hombreallí, mi voz.Donde los negros sean apaleados,yo no puedo estar muerto.Cuando entren en la cárcel mis hermanosentraré yo con ellos.Cuando la victoria,no mi victoria,sino la gran Victoria llegue,aunque esté mudo debo hablar:yo la veré llegar aunque esté…

like a blue flower, without your passinglater through fog and stones,without the torch you lift in your handthat others may not see as golden,that perhaps no one believed blossomedthe glowing origin of the rose,without, in the end, your being, your comingsuddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:and it follows…

You know how this is:if I lookat the crystal moon, at the red branchof the slow autumn at my window,if I touchnear the firethe impalpable ashor the wrinkled body of the log,everything carries me to you,as if everything that exists,aromas, light, metals,were little boatsthat sailtoward those isles of yours that wait for me.Well, now,if little…