A street led me to the port.
And I was the street with its torn windows
and the sun set down in the maternal sand.
I carried to the seaside everything that appeared
during my passage: doors, faces, voices, colonies of termites
and braided onions ripening in the shadows
of well-stocked storerooms. And sacks of sugar. And the rains
that had darkened the roofs of the houses.
It was a day of offerings. Nothing was lost.
The waves celebrated the beauty of the world.
The earth put on parade its promises of life.
And I lay down my own light load
in the cargo-holds of those rusting ships.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem