ANTARES FARM
Night, quiet shadows,
cradle of air,
I feel the wind if I wander in you,
with it the sea smell of the earth
where by its shore my people sing
by sails, by creels,
by children before sunrise awaken.
Dry mountains, firstling green lowlands
awaiting herds and flocks,
your pain is in me gouging me.
Salvatore Quasimodo
