You, the greatest jeweler
Of the empyreal tiaras
You, who burnish ceaseless,
In the workshop of the cosmic space,

Accept me as apprentice,
By cabbalistic nights to teach
The holy beauty’s canon by rote,
Let me convert in gem the naught.

And so toiling at chiseled,
Exalted master and my lord,
To doze at dawn while shimmers
Stars powder on my overall.

You, who reprimand the artists,
And take in glory accomplice
Those mighty prophets within
Whose genius you proceed.

Give me the words to wreathe
Them, hot by the first alive breath
Give them to see while aren’t wrote
To hear while they aren’t spoke.

I’d bring words from the origin of universe,
I’d give them back inside its spirit as a verse,
As constellations made by poems,
As sonnets alike milky ways.