THE GREAT FOUNTAINS
Better not go to these deep woods
for great fountains
sleep in their depths.
Better not wake the great fountains
A false sleep closes their salty eyelids
No dream invents the blossoms
underwater white and rare.
The days around them
and the lean and chanting trees
sink no image into them.
Water in these dark woods
is so pure and uniquely fluid
and hallowed in this flowing source
a sea profession where I gaze.
O tears inside me
in the hollow of this grave space
where erect columns oversee
my old patience
eternal solitude water solitude.