|From the book The Wild Rose|
|Legends and Fantasies|
(1976 - 1978)
|In that darkness, where other than by a miracle |
you cannot make your way through the revolving walls,
there where the candle, burning under a bushel,
grows faint in the precious stones:
many will rise, and many faces
will be transfigured by happy alarm:
is it not about me? But, having chosen the dreamer,
the spirit returns by the former road.
Long walks begin,
vaults and staircases, and galleries,
the slow step from the deep rock,
where nuggets and candles burned.
Or as the wind of the fruit orchard
smells of apples, even when it has gone deep
into the wild steppe –so do I fulfil
the immortal compassion of the first look?
The secret magnet, the core of the legend,
the waves of attraction, burning in the world,
the rocks and wanderings and prophecies
are lifted to heaven in the dark chalice!
Will-power falls, and the body does not want,
and cannot see. But it will say, finally:
there is nothing that life does not prophesy,
being in its depth a sign alone.