Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked! In you the wars and accumulated flights. From you the wings of the song birds. You swallowed everything, like distance. Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank! It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss. The time of the spell that blazed like a beacon. Pilot anxiety, fury of blind diver, turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank! In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank! You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire. Sadness stunned you, in you everything sank! I back the wall of shadow, I went beyond desire and act. Oh flesh, my flesh, woman I loved and lost, wet you in this hour, I raise my voice. Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a glass. It was the black solitude of the islands, and there, woman of love, your arms took me.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle. Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me in the land of your soul, and the cross of your arms! My desire for you was the most terrible and short, the most disheveled and drunken, how tensed and avid. Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs, still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds. Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs, oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies. Oh the mad coupling of hope and effort in which we merged and despaired. And the tenderness, light as water and flour. And the word scarcely begun on the lips. That was my destiny and in it went my longing, and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank! Oh pit of debris, everything fell on you, What a shame not to squeeze, what waves will not drown. From billow to billow you still called and sang like a sailor standing on the prow of a ship. You still flowered in songs, you still broke in currents. Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well. Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank! It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour which the night fastens to all the timetables. The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore. Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate. Deserted like the wharves at dawn. Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands. Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything. It’s time to leave.