Radiant days rolling on the water, intense as the inside
of a yellow rock, its splendor like honey:
that wasn’t damaged by all the turmoil.
That kept its four-square purity.
Yes: the daylight crackles like a fire, or like bees,
getting on with its green work, burying itself in leaves:
till up at the top the foliage reaches
a bright world that flickers and whispers.
Thirst of fire, scorch and multitudinousness of summer,
which builds an Eden with a few green leaves-:
because the dark-faced earth does not want suffering,
it wants freshness-fire-water-bread, for everyone:
nothing should separate people
but the sun or the night, the moon or the branches.