The harbour is old I can’t wait any longer
neither for the friend who left for the island with the pines
nor for the friend who left for the island with the plane trees
nor for the friend who left for the open sea.
I caress the rusted cannons, I caress the oars
that my body will be reborn and decide.
The sails only give off the smell
of the salinity from another storm.
If I decided to remain alone, I seek
the solitude, not this kind of waiting,
nor the shattering of my soul on the horizon
nor these lines, these colours, this silence.
Stars of the night return me to the anticipation
of Odysseus for the dead among the asphodels.
When we moored over here among the asphodels
we hoped to find
the glen that saw the wounded Adonis.