1
We are men of the new world a tree prompts us to harmony
A tree whose fruit is pulpy
It isn’t the tree of good or evil but that of concupiscence.
Whose fruit was flung on our shoulders at the dawn of our solicitude and ranged at evening in the freezing spaces of an infallible cuisine!
The silence plays with us. And our aptitudes in this time seized with firmness rejoice at an audience stooped before the reason justice triumphantly brandishes.
We are men of the intensest heat
Matter fashioned from resonance
Multiplied souls
Lanterns of immortal light
Lands of unutterable representation
2
Suddenly an old man on the threshold of the age. A wind comes to swell the despoiled year.
White sands with brownish stocks, Roots excited by the heat. Delirious paths where the night’s hypnosis flies;
I prop myself for a moment on the slope of his pure face and turn my body
My lamb’s vehemence in the suave musicality of his decayed loins and it is fidelity which pricks the awakening skin
Abundance of fluid which spurs the nuptial dance:
The peasant dreams of his cabbage feet
The epicurean walker swifter than the wind
The crowd explodes with joy and eulogies
Passage of tender gleams under the storm, the skylight opens upon a lucrative seeding
The granaries will protect their fortunes
I glimpse a luminous ending
Like an alleged transmission
And the bonds of survival offered forever
Sustenance will attain the summit of intensity
Suddenly the old man on the threshold of the age hoists with his
superb hand the leaf of spontaneity.
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