57 From raw and roaring earth burst shooting sprouts To wound my silence and to heal my voice -- To fill with green my eyes, blow out my throat And throw me on the, hoarse from roaring, roots, To turn me drunk with flooding blood of leaves, To make me trace my curves with seeking hands And beat myself with fingers in my shells Until the burst of shooting sprouts in me. From you flows, melted from the yearning, earth To shake me, trembling, on the boiling waves, To draw with green your routes to my red caves, To make me sink in you, in you dissolve.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems