Because the clear light, in the night, coincide.
Because in the juncture is the moment
that will be the morning.
Because in me is the word
before which one knows the verb.
And the mountain is bitter
and is growing within.
Lift up, the morning purity.
Because I am going to arrive at the moment
of the flower that is calling the fruit.
Because I can be good nature
every day
when the self lies down
when the green mass calms down
and the chlorophyll spies on, if by being twisted
the path of the untranslatable river.

The grass covers; the branches and solitude
undress. There are, truly, some woods.
There one must bloom and not now,
when I don't know what is perennial.