WOUNDS OF LOVE

This light, this devouring fire;
this grey landscape that surrounds me;
this grief for an obsessive idea;
this anguish of heaven, world and time;

this sorrowing blood that adorns
the lyre now unplucked, lubricious torch;
this weight of the sea that strikes me;
this scorpion nesting in my heart;

these are a garland of love, a bed for the wounded,
where without sleeping I dream you are here
among the ruins of my stricken breast.

And although I look for total safety,
your heart gives me a valley spread out
with hemlock and passion for bitter knowledge.