On the island I saw three hundred goats
and thirty billy-goats,
a wonder of sheep,
for thousand bent sheep
and hundreds of lively rams.
Eighty she-asses and ten doleful donkeys
seven hundred thirty five horses,
two gallopping, their mules
two hundred and forty-six.
Herd upon herd, limitless.
But not one shepherd.
With a donkey I found myself face to face,
we confronted each other in the darkness of the stable.
After the vision I sang:

I watch your island, God unknown
kneeling
before your work with my eyes
I watch your red earth
the work wounded stalks,
the work of your fists and nails.
You don't have to be ashamed of anything.
Not of cemeteries, landslides, skeletons,
Useless gall-nuts.
Not of barren fig-trees inside a stone enclosure.
Not of cripples made kings.
Not of bones that spring up
from under the soil and sing praise to God.
Not of donkeys who look straight in the eye
alone with people, alone with you.