There it is, all alone, a beautiful word
with its long hair loose, facing the sea
proud to exist, to be on the beach, naked,
all voice, sheer presence, like the sea
with its vocalic breasts and its adjective skin,
transparent word, child of memory
at the mercy of the sand, of the waves and the air,
of everything the sea contains, includes:
What can it do against the water? against the sun that sets it on fire?
against the sound of the wind that silences it?
Could it say at least one word—like sea,
for example—and include all the water?
—which rises up in waves and revels in the foam
and flowers in the sand, in rocks and salt.
Poor word, alone, face-to-face with the sea:
our only eyes, our only voice,
our only way of being, facing the sea.