I have grown old with the expectation
of smelling the oceans
and finding the nymph
who promised me in a dream to be there.

Even the venerable tree has grown tired
of watching me dream.

It seems as if the mirror,
the little liar,
has never stopped to deceive me.

Yet it may be her soul
that she is revealing to me.
My tired eyes fail to grasp it though.

At least I’m not alone.
My shadow keeps me company
despite my rejection.

Man of autumn
you have to be reborn
of the immaculate womb of the forest
that has been refreshed by the moon’s infatuation.

Man of spring
you have to see all things from the beginning,
both the snow that melts
and the buds that shed tears.

Man of spring
look again at all those things that come to life.

Man of summer
you are the one who will meet the sea,
the one who will step onto the lonely beach.

Man of the full moon
bury your feet deep into the sand,
make the earth feel you.

Man of winter,
son of the snow and the north wind,
swallow the lightnings that will hit you
in absolute nothingness where they mislead you
and spew the fire faster so that you reach them.