In the center of the earth I will push aside
the emeralds so that I can see you-
you like an amanuensis, with a pen
of water, copying the green sprigs of plants.
What a world! What deep parsley!
What a ship sailing through the sweetness!
And you, maybe-and me, maybe-a topaz.
There’ll be no more dissensions in the bells.
There won’t be anything but all the fresh air,
apples carried on the wind,
the succulent book in the woods:
and there where the carnations breathe, we will begin
to make ourselves a clothing, something to last
through the eternity of a victorious kiss.