HERE IS TOLD HOW DON SANCHO TURNED HIS IRE INTO JOY AND HIS SADNESS INTO BALLAD, CAROL AND SWEETNESS OF THE SKY
Whether it is, whether it’s not, skip over the tail,
grab it by the neck, squeeze its wee-wee,
press the throttle down, bite the cheeks here
and there, in the hour when the mockingbird
falls into the sea, the iguana whistles, the carmine whistles,
fat-neck burns, bile is kneaded, my laughter eats leeks and urine.
The hag, the girl, goes selling and selling,
goes shouting and shouting, for sale here, naked there,
rain after rain the sea’s still there, whether it is,
whether it’s not, the imprint of the snail
and the waking dream, the music explodes,
crystal of dawn, ship coming into sight far away,
stone wall sounding the moon, the dawn.