Father, the sea —irrevocable and just—
brings into port the cargo of days,
safe from the cold and the salt.
And in the barrels of silver in your charge,
you set out time with great care.
Outside, where we are no longer to obey
the faithful report of the mountains,
the wind barely scribbles on water;
the earth, inland, exiled from the sea,
follows, unforgiving, its own laws
which it establishes against and from the body.

Translated by Anna Crowe