WHAT THE EARTH DREAMS

The earth dreams too.

It is a steady dream,

solid as a rock.

In it the earth

is an infinite plain

ploughed by fireflies.

There is no sun, no shadows,

as if everything ripens,

and the ripeness gleams.

The ember alters the hard into soft,

and the birds’ eyes have been opening pearls

ever since their flight begun.

The trees with malachite leaves

cannot hold the feathers and the fogs,

so they stretch, high and higher,

across all movement and rocks.

The stars walk up and down.

Gold changes into silver

and breath rains in drops.

Here come from all the lands

all the strange souls steadily adream.

Here we cannot talk.

Here we drink from the dew,

from the mist, from the green blossom,

and we depart into a different dream

through a different gate.