In the Oases of Body and Soul

Weren't you, bronzed with sun,
pressing white lips to mine in November,
who promised me, as a gift,
oases of flesh and soul?

I know the world is broken!
Desires of tireless flesh,
on fields of harvest and battle—
whom will you summon tomorrow?

With you, passions will not diminish
when I have built them into a tower,
I will cast them into the desert
from the hollow of breasts to the heart.

Where nothing signifies
the trembling flesh of captivity,
do not swear to keep me burning:
self-immolation has gone out of fashion.

Where the drowning man lies parched
in the white desert's oases,
promise me the freedom of spirit
for this triumphant body.