I feel myself in the open night

Planting woad and chicory,

They are familiar with each other’s ways 

You, this forgotten shadow,

That rests in a flowering memory

Is the kiss of root and berry.

Because they muttered words;

Language mixed with libido 

I’m unable to see you closely:

These shadows in the thunderbolts

Beckon in full bloom.

Growing rare in the torment 

Now living, loving, spent.

We are born, forever in the shadows.