Without doubt I praise the wild excellence...

I ask permission to be like everybody else,
like the rest of the world and what's more, like anybody else:
I beg you, with all my heart,
if we are talking about me, since we are talking about me,
please resist blasting the trumpet during my visit
and resign yourselves to my quiet absence.

Someone will ask later, sometimes
searching for a name, his own or someone's else's
why I neglected his sadness or his love...

But I didn't have enough time or ink for everyone.

Or maybe it was the strain of the city, of time
the cold heart of the clocks...

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

Once more I am the silent one
who came out of the distance
wrapped in cold rain and bells:
I owe to earth's pure death
the will to sprout.

I stood on the balcony dark with mourning...
hoping the earth would spread its wings
in my uninhabited love.

I am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
I belong to the earth and its winter.

Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.

And I, a materialist who does not believe
in the starry heaven promised
to a human being,
for this dog and for every dog
I believe in heaven, yes, I believe in a heaven
that I will never enter, but he waits for me
wagging his big fan of a tail
so I, soon to arrive, will feel welcomed.

No, my dog used to watch me
giving me the attention I need,
yet only the attention necessary
to let a vain person know
that he being a dog,
with those eyes, more pure than mine,
was wasting time, but he watched
with a look that reserved for me
every bit of sweetness...