my body like a bugle
I listen
to the sea ruling unsettled sand
to the sky sticking to earth like a mellow pumpkin
with all its seeds

far and away
high over this mud
gathered under the soles big as a mountain
there is my country ...
the place where I can put my finger on warm bread
on the star from the stag’s front
on the bell’s rope in the old church

from sunset towards sunrise
me too I become whiter
deep into my bones
along with this only sun
always full circle
bound to be turning around my house
as if it were the world’s beginnings