in a jug – so long ago, this brightness
still clings to my eyes – the perception I found,
and so much empty space, my own,
reflected in the well.
into me. Stay then as a mirror in the well.
Leaves and flowers remain, and each astonished
gaze brings them down
to my eyes
transfixed more by light
than by sorrow.
When I think of my Country, I look for a road running upward,
like a high-voltage current cutting through slopes. This road
is in each of us, steep and upward, not allowing us to stop.
The road follows the same slopes, returns to the same places,
becomes a great silence visiting the tired lungs of my land
evening after evening.