Classic Poem

My stare like God's in space,
space being stared at
by all the spaces
emptied into the one, the two and in me.
God of the stare,
in my eyes watered by the leaden world,
by the statues thrown from so many paces.
If I, like the grass,
could spread over a field closed to words,
simple, naked, open to your fierce light
yearned by the space of my agitated heart.

Fill me, Universe, with your air
as you filled up those birds
that measured with their wings
the purple kiss of a night of pardons
Empty all the blue of my shirt into my chest
so I may bump my head on your transparent roof,
seeing your eyes in my eyes,
your oak-strong hands in mine,
gathering dew, mobility of lips,
small wings, immeasurable signals of wind.

I would,
if I could right now
run and tumble in you forever,
with the strength of a lover,
with the same fantastic passion,
and in a holy blank darkness
be struck speechless in the sweet fright
before the well-aimed stare
slowly enveloping my body
in a habit ardent with blue.
Fastening myself to your vestments
of man made of sun, of metal of earth,
of smoke of air, of sky of stone
Immense emptying of myself
into your present cup of everlasting red,
into your absent cup of neverending nothing,
into your cup of always
oceanic water.