When the stars in the sky ignore the firmament and go off to sleep by days, the stars of the water greet the sky buried in the sea inaugurating the duties of the new undersea heavens...

The clocks of the sea
the artichokes,
the blazing money boxes,
the pockets of the sea
full of hands,
the lamps of water,
the shoes and boots
of the ocean,
the mollusk,
the sea cucumbers,
the defiant crabs,
the deep sea's chestnuts,
the ocean's azure umbrellas,
the broken phone,
the waltz over the waves,
the seaquake gives all of this to me.

The waves returned to the Bible;
page by page the water closed;
all anger returned to the sea's center,
but between my eyes what remains
are the varied and useless treasures
that the sea left me,
the ocean's dismantled love and
shadowy rose.

Touch this harvest;
here my hands worked
the diminutive tombs of salt
destined for being and substances,
ferocious in their livid beauty
in their limestone stigmas,
fugitives,
because they will feed us
and other beings
with so much flowering
and devouring light.