The invisible, my love, overflows with meaning.
Overflows with the fragrance of meadow flowers
whose silent death renews our souls,
weary as our bodies on this hot
August afternoon, as we, drenched in sweat
and out of breath, motionless, lie on a bed
cradled only a short while ago by high waves.
Blinded by love we have, my love, foreseen
many things. Overlooked many more. Rains
replacing sun-filled days. The quiet of dusk.
The autumn of youth’s intemperance.
The melancholy mood of satires…
My hot breath keeps your neck warm,
as in long, cold winter nights. In double
solitude even my unspoken word opens
the silver locket hanging from a fine chain
between your bare breasts,
holding your little secret. A rainbow above the city
hidden by dark clouds of smoke.
Where nights are white from burning fires
and where days are black from dying.
Translated by Mia Dintinjana