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