Jordi Llavina i Murgadas

Far from the city you raise your redoubt
from the night skies lit up by the embers.
From time to time in a field you camp out:
it’s fine that you store, with one eye aware

the place of all stars in the field now sown,
that you see how your heart grows joyous, bright
for that flower that to the buried sun grown
and that knows the glorious hour of night.

In June, you build close to a field of wheat
that makes you sure of the sound in the sheaves
of the wind’s guarded song. It beats

like this wind, is this life - man clears the leaves,
linked, the sliver of time that you have and,
you start to feel the sting of the nettles.