translated by Stephen Tapscott

In the center of the earth I will push aside

the emeralds so that I can see you—

you like an amanuensis, with a pen

of water, copying the green sprigs of plants.

What a world! What deep parsley!

What a ship sailing through the sweetness!

And you, maybe—and me, maybe—a topaz.

There’ll be no more dissensions in the bells.

there won’t be anything but all the fresh air,

apples carried on the wind,

the succulent book in the woods:

and there where the carnations breathe, we will begin

to make ourselves a clothing, something to last

through the eternity of a victorious kiss.