Above the wind
Someone above the wind washing his hands,
Enveloped by blood.
A road leading down
Takes us to a tavern full of verdigris mouths
Spreading the tang of having inhabited
The ocean's capacious sea-bed.
Come here. Come home, said a voice;
Whom is this mouth calling? Has
this mouth kissed the water?
The man who was washing his hands
Suddenly departs, the road has turned green
And, growing, has coiled itself up
Like a snail. Nobody walks it, its steps
You know there is blood throbbing
In the place where violent death harried?
Come, let us eat. Come home quickly,
A voice murmurs.
There are many voices calling, each
to the other. Some are in love, others
Are gambolling briskly, and reply only
To sounds too distant for you.
Do you remember that trawler, the net
Thrown over the trees? Two venerable men -
How young they were to me then -
Now in a rage to remember.