Toward the South

Zenith

All these regrets

These gardens without limits

Where the toad varies a tender azure cry

The doe of the boundless silence passes quickly

A nightingale wounded by love sings on

The rosebush of your body from which I have picked the roses

Our hearts hang together on the same pomegranate tree

And the pomegranate flowers in our dawning glances

While falling by turns have littered the path