Night On The Island

The whole night long I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
You were wild and gentle between pleasure and dreams,
between fire and water.
Perhaps very late
our dreams were united
in the heights or in the depths,
on high like branches moved by the same wind,
down below like red roots touching each other.
Perhaps your dream
broke away from mine
and searched for me
across the darkness of the sea
as before
when you did not yet exist,
when without noticing you
I sailed right past you,
and your eyes searched for
those things which now
—bread, wine, love and anger—
I give you by the handful
because you are the goblet
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.
I have slept with you
the whole night long,
while the dark earth turns
with the living and the dead,
and when I awoke suddenly
in the middle of the darkness
my arm was round your waist.
Neither night nor our dreams
could separate us.
I have slept with you
and when I awoke your mouth
coming out of your dream
gave me the taste of the earth,
of sea-water, of seaweed,
from the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea which encircles us.