When our guest is expected,
none of the houses scattered on the beach
has a spark of light.
The sand is fallen into the swamp of darkness.
Thunder remains quiet in the clouds.
There are waves of silence and doors of darkness.
The lamps of arriving ships do not glimmer even dimly.
The sky is lost in darkness.
Let us decorate before dawn
the constant empty bowls of our heads
on the moving black sand.
Let us make the maps of our dreams
on the black sheet of eternity.