Master of blood I am yours.
O tireless captain
upright on the plains of sand,
at night, at night I hear you
march toward a doubtful sea
with footsteps falsely restrained
—at that time I touch my breath,
I search for you with my bare wrist,
I defend you against the seaweed,
the salt, the wakened fish,
we faint under a wave,
people tell of two that are drowned,
of a fog mowing the beach.

Midnight descends, covers my lips,
keeps me from calling for help.
We float, forgotten by day.

translated by W.S. Merwin

When I strip
stop walking
and drop into sleep
—before I’m at the bottom
of unmoving waters—
I think of you
restless,
journeying.

translated by Willis Barnstone