In a country half-land, half-water.
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
Turning toward the sea,
A man faced with his own immensity
Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire.
Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow,
The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
Winding around the waters of the world.