After the other summer in your Low Countries

Where I danced in a dreamlike happiness
While the souls talked up high between pirates and conspirators
In the cordage of Notre Dame de Léspoir
The ship of the senseless hearts,
I saw myself in the sky under a canopy of stars
In a carnival of cherubims dresses as colombines
And other beings of the Empyrial,
And I thought: that either
1) the gods by mistake put you at the mercy of my schemes
2) or I am a mystic who has not been revealed
a new St. John of the Cross
and you are my extasy:
the rest are the drugs of the season.

For the stoics time was not
A mere caravan of success
This adventure almost without any sense
In the direction of the anti-Canaan
The Land where there is no Moses
Extravagant in the Desertof the sinais (signals)

There always exists another time, unmovable
In which the unpronounced word hovers
The myth, being all and nothing
And ideas like flowers still wait
For another Era or maybe just for spring
Or the deciphering of the latter

OK, the stoics did not create
an irresistible solar system
capable of orienting philosophycal modes
the compass of metaphysics
& the ships of the conqueror;
in exchange perhaps they have invented
the best metaphores of love