Omens

I rode to meet you: dreams

like living beings swarmed around me

and the moon on my right side

followed me, burning.

I rode back: everything changed.

My soul in love was sad

and the moon on my left side

trailed me without hope.

To such endless impressions

we poets give ourselves absolutely,

making, in silence, omen of mere event,

until the world reflects the deepest needs of the soul.