Bright mornings before work,

                               I walk over the  path stones

Through the sand, under the trees,

 meet the scents of  day-birth ;

sun-wood resin of pine-bark,

Sap of eucalyptus ;I sniff the salt

 of the hidden gulf and  remember…

 

North of the open window

Above a rocky mediterranean shore,

A cold sea crashing and

Droplets of salt water are on our brows,

Spray carried   by the wind, or  

 Particles of the  silence

That true communion allowed,

So joy might cool

And conscience would know ,

What passion was.                                     

 

I cross the moat that rings

The Industrial College,

Where Guards tie my tongue

To love-wordless lectures.

Into  that tent of Hell

I smuggle this souvenir.