From the culminating thing

It advances a sudden blindness,
the threshold of the midday is expanded.
Almost I can smell the sap flowing through the squeaking darkness.
The ear of a child is opened in loneliness
without nobody noticing.
Bewitched rumors live there now.
It moans the crater that shelters the night.
Is a man dressed in moth-eaten rags,
is a boy without future the one that ploughs the flat land.
It looks at me from the culminating thing,
moves away,
the highest pens get weak.
The air has turned into nitrogen,
the light penetrates the hour in the soil.
Of pollen, she is of pollen as the flowery rose-bush!
I fix my foot in the mute levee.
I revive.
Yes, I am suffering and jump inside my veins.