NOCTURNE
The trees are drunk, from the nocturnal lights,
and they drag their shadows, nervous and stiff.
Their shadows, which strangle the night’s winds,
shelter and rattle me, as if I was a bird.
And my steps echo in their black boughs,
and the weakest of hooks fill me with vertigo;
yet when I cast my eye on them from a pair of simpler ones,
they answer me, swaying, that they remained intact…
The leaves, dilating the shared shadows,
return like ruined boats to their tree.
They cannot, oh, attain the solid banks
that the tips of heavenly bodies announce from above,
yet quivering and thick with silence they plow
through deep and freezing ponds of miracle.
And in the nocturnal trees embracing the earth,
I find oblivion and mercy, when in despair,
while the light runs down their boughs,
thin, diaphanous… LIKE WATER BETWEEN MY HANDS!