As a Kouros
abandoned in a quarry
is completed by the grass
rounding his chest and limbs,
by apple-scented breath of winds
and by the starry
heaven hiding the interrupted
work of the chisel,

and the Kouros appears
full of life and zeal,
but only resting for a while,

so I,
abandoned and incomplete,
am complemented by this evening sky
with its wine-tasting lazourite,
by the grasses and fruit-laden trees
strengthening my neck and limbs,
by the herds of spotty animals
running through my chest,
by the sunset carmine rivers
streaming in my veins

as I lie, and breathe, and rest.