Unity

There is something dense, united, settled in the depths Repeating its number, its identical sign How it is noted that stones have touched time In their refined matter there is an odor of age Of water brought by the sea, from salt and sleep I'm encircled by a single thing, a single movement: A mineral weight, a honeyed light Cling to the sound of the word "noche": The tint of wheat, of ivory, of tears Things of leather, of wood, of wool Archaic, faded, uniform Collect around me like walls I work quietly, wheeling over myself A crow over death, a crow in mourning I mediate, isolated in the spread of seasons Centric, encircled by a silent geometry: A partial temperature drifts down from the sky A distant empire of confused unities Reunites encircling me