Once again my words
turn to the waves.
I shall have
to sing of you,
waves, a thousand times,
or a thousand times a thousand.
O fugitive bride of the sea,
Venus
sender
and green,
you raise up
your crown,
and rain down
lilies
from your crest.
O
tireless
blade
shaken
by
the
wind's
solitude,
as erect as a
transparent
statue,
crystallized a thousand times over,
crystal clear.
Suddenly
the salt shake empties:
motion
is transformed
into foam
and from this foam the sea
reshapes itself
and the swelling rises again.
Other times
like a horse,
a perfect mare
wild
and winged,
your mane
blazing white
iin the rage of
rushing air,
you slide, jump or canter,
pulling a sled
of ocean snow.
Waves, waves, waves --
torn down a thousand
times a thousand, a thousand
times resurrected
and shattered:
long live
the waves,
may they
live a thousand forevers.
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