I am happy I can see
The sublime kaleidoscope of autumnal leaves,
Accustom my visual sensitivity to growing rays of stars,
Lay the wintry sparkling blanket on a shelf of precious memory,
And flutter my lids at the budding cherry trees.
Happy even more I can gaze at you, beloved ones,
Caress your complexions with tenderness-suffused eyes
And engrave you in my universe as indelible effigies.
I am happy I can hear
The rustling anxieties of perennial shrubs in a breeze
So soft, that it carries on the fastidious and modest wishes
Of the animate souls.
Happy even more I can perceive the outpouring of
Rivers’ cries, the unintelligible murmur of mothers
Swinging their babes to sleep, and the frenzied joy of
The blithe and reckless ones, arrows of vivid laughter.
I am happy I can scent
The rawness of revived grass among thorny, beauteous roses
Gathered in a bouquet of tremors and declared love
Of another’s congenial or contrasting heart.
Happy even more I can detect the sharp odour of
Your tired skin resting against mine,
Salty as an unending virescent ocean
And warm as the suaveness of this engirdling amour.
I am happy I can taste
The dulcet fresh essence of the hard-coated pineapple,
And the irresistible meals I prepare for us
On an otherwise truly monotonous day.
Happy even more I can melt crisp delicacy on my tongue,
And crush gently in my teeth the stiffness of
An inauspicious chapter of rancorous existence
Without swallowing its unmitigated spite.
I am happy I can touch
The harsh and even forms of my wooden bureau,
Feeling its reassuring tangibility before floating in the volatile
And diaphanous kingdom of my written depths.
Happy even more I can fondle the unreserved splendour
Flowing from those beings that unceasingly proffer
A bawdy, crucial significance to my often frolicsome
Yet demented alacrity: to live, to sense, to believe.