Classic Poem

If I speak always of the dead
it is because I'm their friend.
I row with them in empty boats
and we shout if the shape of the peaks
is changed and if we see someone wipe out
the footsteps of the beasts in the snow.
This is what makes me plunge deeper to touch
the waves that flow
and this is what makes me see
God's creatures circling distances
trying to understand if the din of the jungles
is merely a joke, or
a sign of anguish.