my body like a bugle
I listen
to the hot sea rolling over sand
to the sky sticking to earth like a mellow pumpkin
with all its stars

far and away
high over this mud
gathered under the soles as big as a mountain
there is my country
the place where I can put my finger on warm bread
on the star from the stag’s front
on the bell’s rope in the old church

from sunset towards sunrise
I too I become whiter
deep into my bones
along with this only sun
always full circle
bound to be turning around my house
as if it were the world’s beginning now