While the huge seafoam of Isla Negra,
the blue salt, the sun in the waves splash over you,
I watch the bee at its work,
avid in the honey of its universe.
It comes and it leaves, balancing its straight pale flight
as if it slid on invisible wires:
its elegant dance, its thirsty waist,
the assassinations of its mean little needle.
Through an orange-and-gasoline rainbow
it hunts, like an airplane in the grasses;
it flies with a hint of a spike; it disappears;
while you come naked out of the sea
and return to the world full of salt and sun:
reverberating statue, sword in the sand.