I

So many pomegranates in your clouds!
Lightning splits them,
Hail falls.
My lips, Creator, savor your taste.
And you yourself went wandering
Through my soul, as the sun through a thick forest
Where no one walked before.
A bird is born in your own image,
Translates your silence
Into silent sounds.

II

All the trunks come together.
All the branches shut the windows.
You get lost in green flames,
In the thick forest, the most beautiful.
You get lost in a net of dew,
In the shadows when they run wild …
You get lost behind my vision,
And I shall show your way in images.