Like the dark backs of a herd of colts,
the waves draw near, collapsing
with a dull but lyric murmur
that Homer was the first to know how to listen to.
Weary from their long gallop,
they begin to tremble.
Then they moan, hoarse with pleasure,
like a woman in the arms of her lover.
The waves, later, start
to hurl themselves, foaming, like wolves
that may have scented prey.
The setting sun, arriving from behind me,
lays red medals on their backs.
In the sand’s wet edge
I see your footprints and, through the air,
your body’s golden shadow passes.
So, it was about you, that the sea
with its deaf-mute gestures, was warning me.
It is saying that the place, within me, that you occupy
will be part of hell if you leave it empty.
That in the depths of this love there comes back to wait for me
the desolation of my twenty-year-old self.