When the wind
at its hasty ingress
blows into the green horns
the march of assembling leaves,
at the time that the clarion of clarity
repeats the tune of the riverbeds
fondling my ears in the airy toner
of its rocking cradle,
when birds
in the chant of their mating
stretch the steaming springs of their quintessence
to the stream of springs,
faraway breadths:
from one frontier to the other
the blank chalice of canvases
brims over with the red wine of enkindled coals
and the watercolour of imagination
erupts
from the molten gold.
Faraway breadths:
in the brim of horizons
between borders and my eyes,
despite the despair of space
your nostalgia
like the extension of objects in their shades
sponges on the canvas or my senses,
your present like the ark of all the greats and hopes
oars through the gold sunset of effusive feeling.
Faraway breadths:
on the rim of your verge
the river of beholding
disgorges to the ocean of blue,
and
in your loop
all the roads
adjoin the golden chain
of continuance.
