The Dust on My Thoughts
By the cathedral of your smile
I’ve planted fruit trees and vine.
At daybreak, when the sun still brushes
the dust off the trees, as well as off my thoughts,
without your being aware that we are floating on summer’s
wave of fragrance, you have snatched a cloud from the sky
to milk it of its snow and from its udders
there started to pour out roses and flocks
of wild ducks whose wings would overflow
with a whit of the torridity from the countries they’ve roamed over.
You undoubtedly feel guilty for having overthrown
the order of things, for having jumbled the seasons,
but the flashes of lightning taking wing from your smile
have gently touched the morning’s golden hands
and, from the fruit tree orchard, there soared
an azure guitar which began to rustle
as if the sea crawled behind you – a submissive girl puppy.
By the cathedral of your smile I feel myself to be a silver
lighthouse striving to light your way.
English version by Gabriela PACHIA