Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

So the freshness lives on in a lemon, in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, the proportions, arcane and acerb.

We the mortals touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all the these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.

I move in the university of the waves.

Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!