The willows gesticulate with tenacious fingers.
They want to grasp my white-naked limbs,
flanking me on either side like sentinels in an army.
No man or woman, nor element of beauty pierces
the surface of my gaze,
I only see a straight path into the lake,
that mirror in which reeds billow
like abandoned corsets in sun-lanced waters;
and where I am free to gaze at my own starry eyes,
and where my feelings erupt in a Vesuvius of flowers.