In the Greenhouse
The lemon bushes overflowed with the patter of mole paws, the scythe shined in its rosary of cautious water drops. A dot, a ladybug, ignited above the quince berries as the snort of a rearing pony broke through, bored with his rub-down—then the dream took over. Kidnapped, and weightless, I was drenched with you, your outline was my hidden breath, your face merged with my face, and the dark idea of God descended upon the living few, amid heavenly sounds, amid childish drums, amid suspended globes of lightning upon me, upon you, and over the lemons...
"In the Greenhouse" translated by Charles Wright, from Selected Poems, Eugenio Montale, Oberlin College Press © 2004. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.