I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.

And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain.

When I sleep every night, what am I called or not called? And when I wake, who am I if I was not I while I slept?

From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.

I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.

Girl lithe and tawny, the sun that forms the fruits, that plumps the grains, that curls seaweeds filled your body with joy, and your luminous eyes and your mouth that has the smile of the water. A black yearning sun is braided into the strands of your black mane, when you stretch your arms. You play with the sun as with a little brook and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes.

Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way