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The Extravagant Upstream Traveler

Then I saw him in the oily water,

a gift from industry and lively hatred,

rising upstream the water:

the impossible salmon,

a brawny monster

all ornamented of green and purple,

of orange and red,

at the livery that only desire lends

to the anxious to reproduce them by all means.

Unusual iridescense between the garbage

of the condemned river,

like a stubborn man

in finding the way that says to him

“I am your life”, a gift

for the simplicity obstinate in believing

in a stimulus for the tensed muscles

under the harsh scales,

an overdose of hormones

that flood the tiny brain.

And this open mouth to the desire of breathing

still something more than its last day,

was keeping the final syllable

of those who don’t let themselves be beaten

neither by their own stupidity

nor by the edges of the piers,

where they never stop, where they

never detain for any reason whatsoever.

Joy and Fall

First harmony there I saw you, it wasn't necessary

to look about parts of your entire kingdom but there I saw you

and I didn't want to pause  at your border, your border

that is in simple things full for your waving shadow.

How delicately, light in light, core of the day,

you become corporeal or choose a candid shape

when you lend us your eyes

and how an eternal love takes us by the hand

towards your creature, there where you are indeed,

alive, the infinite dance,

the very complaint of what exists.

All high serenity is your vase and each one

declares a new colour yours.  It's april

of a year that doesn't count for you and however

a sweet warmth led you here by my side.  I was only

a certainty this morning and the foam of sleep

and the sides of the day were cancelled in me.

I only asked, ran to your contagion,

so that a breath on the cinders that powdered things

lighted a world of carbuncles again,

amethysts in the air ... the many features

of your bright glass windows, where do they come from?

from what deep abyss or public abyss and exposed,

from what other time hardly visited,

hardly glanced in the fire of fire?

There is no worse fasting than that  within you.

Lao-Tse Prepares a Verdict

Nothing of what I say

may deviate the fall of a leaf.

A word will not

detain the other one.

It's useless for me to dedicate

a truth to these listeners:

they will  turn it into pieces.

From its pieces Lao-Tsé will be born.