Sure as the palm tree is born upon sand

and the rose grows beside the salt ocean

the pain within my verses re-surges,

convulsive, raging, aflame and perfumed.

And on those oceans over green waters,

a candle sinks a mast is torn and with hull

toward hungry waves the vessel is pulled

in the aftermath of a great battle

winds still keep the boat in its motion.

 

The horror!  The horror!  On earth, at sea

there’s been nothing but the grind of fury,

fog, tears!  Mountains dispersed on gathered plains;

what was once a llano’s turbulent force

had become merely departing rivers

when once emptied in the sea  were at each

turn there were deposited great cities

but the stars in the sky have been shut down

and shattered the winds scrambled by shadows,

escaped crashing into themselves and fell;

on the mountainous air a sound clamored

a noisily clattering flourish sang

while crazy stars began discharging flames!

 

Water,  and later, sun;  earth and ocean

shine in tranquil and crystalline marriage.

And the storm is both fertile and pure

Already from the blue air have been strung

two huge cloths formed together with features

embossed with the facade of the twilight

clattering together a sublime clash;

yet true as the tender edge of a wound

remains pink long after the sore is cured.

 

A ship is a child playing with wings

and rocks on the waves in misbehavior