Go through a bluish hazy forest, covered 
by centenary mist, by curvy granite 
stones burning red, to empty seacoast 
with whalers warming up their muscles 
gone numb for idle months of nothing,
preparing to give themselves to vast space
that’s even huger than a whale.

Peer into dense and solid waves’ crests
entirely bestrewed with [bad word] of marble,
peer into whirling gulls and beards of people 
in crowd on the shore. strip of coast
is melting in the grip of flow. [bad word] 
and time is softly covering the pebbles
the ocean and the deserted house.