Dawn

The stars fly away from the gardens of night

like golden bees attracted by invisible honey;

and dawn in the distance, stretching her clear canvas,

weaves with silver threads the blue cloak of the sky.

My desires fly off at morning's approach

out of the dream-drunk garden of my heart

like a wafting swarm summoned to the red-tinged horizon

by a chant that is plaintive, eternal and far.

They fly to your feet, stars expelled from on high,

exiled from the golden sky in which your beauty blossoms;

and, seeking uncharted roads to travel to where you are,

they mingle their dying light with the awakening day.