THE WONDERFUL SHE-WOLF
It is a wonderful she-wolf
For which you leave home,
With a cry insane and wild,
You start for the furthest mountain
To kneel before the monster of beauty.
You wake up inside her.
You rise up early.
And then, close and alone, you start.
When you hunt you have no eyes,
But all the more fragile with the years free of words,
You touch upon the roof of the tree-crowns,
The golden woods where no one will ever step.
The she-wolf never became your master.
Gentler than expanse she travels.
One hair of her neck
Carries the world carelessly.
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