Square of stone and men
Dressed in church clothes and time,
No flowers roam the pavements, only diamond thorns,
Clinging like green gods to the soles of men
And flowing like a linen stream into the little roads.
Reality puts on its favourite mask,
In this sullen hour and peaceful day.
But hastily it takes it off
And puts on a glimmer of sapphire temptation
When it sees her with the cheeks of lace.
Her eyes are libation holes, where dreams
Offer the liquid sacrifice of their wisdom
In fleeting hope of her Amazonian kiss.
Her waist is a claret sea-shell
Whose inner mouth shelters
A rough diamond.
The women can only understand,
The men dream, because they can.
Ah the dawning Spring reveals
The secret of her beauty:
Her skin of limestone reflects marble,
But hide veins of virginal sea-weed.
She cannot think of herself, without thinking
Of the soaring bastions with aluminium glares.
Knowing there is more than this
But not knowing what form it takes,
She makes up images of people
Who could one day show her the four winds.
"St.Lawrence guide us to victory
O Mother guide us to your mercy
And let us rejoice
Let us rejoice!"
O the men sing the foritifeid hymns so well!
With voices of wheat and ice
They give the day its name.
The only women hinted are on the shop names,
And the amateur politicians beat their bellies
With hands brittled by salt and iron.
Asbestos shouts and open palms clanging on tables
Are the keys to her front door:
No one knows if she crosses the threshold
In spite or enamored: only the Steeple knows.
The Spanish bells interrupt
Any proclamation of love she has ever known.
I, who know their voice so well,
Will try to make their screams into a harmony:
"I have come to see you again
(ding-ding-ding)
To show you the strenght of my plea;
(dong-dong-dooong)
Give me the map of your heart
And I will give you the map to your dreams.
(ding-dong-dong-ding-dong)"
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