Before meeting you, my life was a voyage
across an adverse sea, which, laughing
at my poor hopes, could give me
only grease of seaweds on the rocks.
later, sleeping the sleep p of the Chaos,
i was woken up by the roar of the waves
on the rock. Oh, how white can be
the white blazing foam, and how white
the convex round wave when it's hurling
to seize the shore, like your round
body of woman is seizing one's sight!
within your maternal female corals
the soaked bow will rest quietly:
it will be the sun-dial of the waves' hours,
when they caress the seaweeds like they were
the light and fine hair of a child.