Where the meaning is hidden
Of the things I’ve lived,
I know just my hands,
The shoes I put on my feet.
I know day and night
And the terrors of the wind that took you away.

Where the acute presence is
Of the past, its warm shapes,

Why, why do not I stop getting up?

. My volcano burns and my sea

It’s stormy

And I understand that happiness is so close

That’s just enough to touch her.