Nativity, guide the unyielding,
may they find their foundations,
the almond believable in the fresh day to come.
Evening has closed its corsair's gash where
the rockets soared aimlessly amid dogged fear.
Past now the micas of mourning on your face.
Unquenchable pane: my breath was already
grazing the friendship of your wound,
arming your hidden royalty.
And from the lips of the fog descended our joy
with its threshold of dune, its roof of steel.
Awareness increased the quivering array
of your permanence;
faithful simplicity spread everywhere.