Chapter 7 noon

33 Honey, we're going home, Back to the vine-covered trellis home: Naked summer treads the steps of honeysuckle, Will reach your bedroom before you arrive. Our nomadic kiss wanders: Armenia, thick honey unearthed by drops, Ceylon, the green dove, and the Yangtze River Divide day from night with long patience. Now, beloved, across the surging ocean We return, like two blind birds to the wall, Fly back to the nest of distant spring. For love cannot fly without sleep: Our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea, Our kisses return to our territory. 36 My sweetheart, after the celery and the trough,

Little leopards of yarn and onions, I love watching your mini empire sparkle: Your weapons are wax, wine, oil, Garlic, soil opened for your hands, The blue substance that ignites in your hands, The ability to transfer dreams into salads, A snake curled up in a garden hose. You, with the scythe that stirs the scent, You, with commanding soap bubbles, You, climb the ladders and stairs of my madness. You control the quality of my handwriting, And find those in the sand of the notebook Seeking the stray syllables of your lips. 38 At noon your house sounds like a train: The bee buzzes, the pot sings,

The waterfall catalogs the deeds of the drizzle, Your laughter spins the trill of palm trees. The blue light on the wall talks to the rock, It came whistling like a shepherd with a telegram; Between two fig trees, with a green voice, Homer crept up the hill in his sandals. Only here the city can be silent and worry-free, No eternity, no sonatas, lips, or car horns; Only the conversation of the waterfall and the lion, And you—up and down the stairs, singing, running, stooping, planting, sewing, cooking, hammering, writing, coming home, Or you're gone - and I know winter has come.

40 The silence is green, the light is moist, June quivered like a butterfly, And Mathilde, you in the Southern Territories, Come from sea and rock, through noon. You carry a ship full of irony flowers, Seaweed abandoned by the south wind tormented, And your still white hands cracked by salt corrosion, What was harvested was ears of grain of sand. I love your pure gift, your skin as a perfect stone, The sun-bright gift of your fingertips: nails, Your mouth overflowing with joy. But, for my house by the abyss, Give me the system of distressing silence, A castle by the sea forgotten in the sand.

43 I search for your shadow in all phenomena, In the rushing river of women, in braids, shyly downcast eyes, Light footsteps gliding over foam. Suddenly I feel like I can make out your fingernails— Oblong, nimble, cherry's nieces; And your hair passing by your ego, I think I saw the image of your campfire burning in the water. I search and search, but no one can match your rhythm, Your light, the black clay you brought back from the woods; No one has your petite ears. You are complete and simple, you are all self-contained, I'm just drifting with you, loving a The broad Mississippi flowing to the female ocean.

45 Don't go far, not even a day, because, Because, I don't know how to put it, a day is a long one, I will always wait for you, as if guarding an empty station, Sleep soundly when the train stops elsewhere. Don't leave me not even for an hour, because That little bit of heart pain will all surface, The smoke of wandering around looking for belonging will drift in Inside me, strangling my confused heart. O may your silhouette never be lost on the sand, O, may your eyelids never flutter into the void: Don't leave me for even a minute, dearest, Because in that moment, you've come a long way,

I would wander the world in bewilderment, asking: will you come backAre you going to leave me here dying? 47 I want to look back at you among the branches. You gradually become a fruit, Effortlessly rising from the roots, Sing the syllables of your sap. Here you will first be a fragrant flower, Transformed into statues of kisses, Until the sun and the earth, blood and sky, Grant you joy and sweetness. I will recognize your hair among the branches, Your image ripening among the leaves, That image brought the petals closer to my thirst, And my mouth will be full of your taste, that rises from the earth, carrying your

Blood, the kiss of the blood of lovers' fruit. 48 Two happy lovers form a loaf of bread, A drop of moonlight in the grass; As you walk, leave two shadows that flow together, When you wake up, leave a sun on your bed empty. In all truth they chose the day: They hold it, not with cords, but with fragrance, They never tore up peace, never smashed words. Their happiness is a transparent tower. Air and wine with lovers, The night delights them with petals of joy, They are entitled to all the carnations. Two happy lovers, without end, without death, They were born, they died, repeated many times in their lifetime,

They are endless like nature. 50 Koda Persian says your laughter falls Fly like a falcon from a stone tower. Indeed, you cut the leaves of the world, With a bolt of lightning, O daughter of the sky: It falls and thunders: tongues of dew, The stream of diamonds, the light and its bees dance. And where the silent beard dwelt, Grenade explosions of sun and stars, The sky fell, with its shadowy night, Bells and carnations shine in the light of the full moon, The saddler's horses galloped wildly. 'cause you're so petite, let it be Fall down and let the shooting stars of your laughter fly,

To electrify the names of all things in nature. 51 Your laughter belongs to a tree caught by lightning The split tree, the silver thunderbolt Falling from the sky, tearing the top off, Cut the tree in two with a sword. I love a laugh like yours Born only in the leaves and snow of the highlands, Is the laughter of the wind released at that height, Habits of the Araucaria fir, my favorite. My alpine woman, my clear Chilan volcano, Slash the shadows with the knives of your laughter, Slash night, morning, noon honey: Birds among the leaves will leap in the air, When your laughter is like a luxury

light, penetrated through the tree of life. 53 Here is bread, wine, table, lodging: Men's, women's and life's necessities: The whirling peace rushes here to rest, The flame of republic kindles this light. Praise your hands - make a quick The fruits of song and kitchen innocence; Praise the integrity of your galloping feet, Ah long live the ballerina dancing with a broom. Those rough rivers with their watery menace, The pavilion of the foam of pain, Those burning hives and reefs: Now all this rest, your blood in mine, This midnight starry and blue river bed, This endless pure tenderness.