Ox that I saw in my childhood, as you steamedin the burning gold on the Nicaraguan sun,there on the rich plantation filled with tropicalharmonies; woodland dove, of the woods that sangwith the sound of the wind, of axes, of birds and wild bulls:
I salute you both, because you are both my life.
You, heavy ox, evoke the gentle dawnthat signaled it was time to milk the cow,when my existence was all white and rose;and you, sweet mountain dove, cooing and calling,you signify all that my own springtime, nowso far away, possessed of the Divine Springtime.
