| Because the clear light, in the night, coincide. Because in the juncture is the moment that will be the morning. Because in me is the word before which one knows the verb. And the mountain is bitter and is growing within. Lift up, the morning purity. Because I am going to arrive at the moment of the flower that is calling the fruit. Because I can be good nature every day when the self lies down when the green mass calms down and the chlorophyll spies on, if by being twisted the path of the untranslatable river. The grass covers; the branches and solitude undress. There are, truly, some woods. There one must bloom and not now, when I don't know what is perennial. |