The landscape where she moves is immense.
It stretches on and on:
The tunnel going to another tunnel.
The wall. The towering fence.
Every moment, an exit or an entrance,
Immense vistas which don’t quite make sense
Even to the birds, who fly smoothly through their high distances.
This is the world. This is what it says.
The immensity
Constantly defeats my poetry,
Which is interesting, but small,
And which, if I’m honest,
She really doesn’t care about at all.
She frequents immense places
And smiles on important faces.
She enjoys her queen-like ways.
And all I am to her is a phase
Inside these swooning, immense days.
She smiles, and she’s quite sincere.
Love is something else. That’s not the reason she’s here.
I fell in love. And now I discover my worst fear.
But look, she’s getting old—slowly, slowly.
Soon, she will no longer be a queen, but something more holy.
Soon, her beauty, which arches over me, will be gone.
She will no longer be able to tease me;
Thinking, at last, will make me happy,
And I will love the view that goes on and on.