Translated by Mark Schafer
I wash the anointed cutlery again and again. I wash the blades and also the prefiguration of the blood. I wash the transformations of the wound. The sand, the sand. Oh love, the sea, a pair of forearms. I wash the almond eye of sexual desire and the festival’s whirling music with a rag of noise. I wash a foot, a hand. The sea, the sea, brimming with images. Oh, the wind, its fierce undulations. I wash the end and the beginning, time and eternity. I wash the bull’s muscles and its heroic shadow oozing out. I wash the body of love with the immaculate water of suffering and likewise wash the faces with the lustrous blessing of wisdom.