I leaned against the trunk of a tree. A few faint clouds dilated the sky, and the light was pure sweetness. Rocks spread out beneath the endless air, the color of embers or a fire’s agate. I breathed deeply, that’s all, under a tree.
It was neither dawn nor a dream. That’s what the world was like. Gleaming, the pines were languid greenery and I could hear the pine nuts crackle as they fell.
I run through silver slopes and hills I feel my body as perhaps never before. The air is a clean mantle coming From beyond the grasses. From a place Uninhabited and vast. All is luminous and green. I chase a bird that rises, descends, rises again At times conflated with the sky but reappearing And the silky grasses form swift ripples. I breathe, there is so much light. I climb a hill And suddenly you appear before the sea And the bird, that I cannot reach, flies above us, moves away and is lost. But you are there. You say something to me, barely, and smile the way you were. How many things we must have recalled. How many things loved and understood. And for me to see you again before the sea. How well you looked, father. How well death agreed with you. How much silence and distance accumulated in these strange years of your absence To see you once more, how sweet. And the sea That we never saw together, how it shone from the slow swells, like something incomprehensible, and at peace. But suddenly a noise, a rough movement on the road woke me And around me remained the murmur of the bus in which I traveled The deaf darkness of the distances without limit. The return to a journey less beautiful and more sad, in the middle of the desert. The cold windows, a few glimmers of unspeakable forms in the night: the long highway to darkness. Which city was I nearing? Where did I want to go? What was I chasing? You, a moment ago, there, so far away, before the sea Me on this side now, on this side of dreams doubting as always, tense and quiet journeying through the deep desert of the night Toward cities not mine.