The summer

The summer lies like shackled music
until the sun
metallic sky and wind
and sea of source and deserted
goes down amidst me and my

I do not wish for more than this
the joy of life
the wild passion
and the song meant for her
are dead
I lie subdued and stare
at stones
that laugh slithery glistering
in the sun

only once I shall leave me alive
and further than the extremest sound
in the light
that white and yawning
surrounds the words of my voice.

Anthonie Sas