"For Mycea", Edouard Glissant

Excerpt from For Mycea

I named you wounded Earth, whose rift is ungovernable, and I clothed you in
threnodies uprooted from the recesses of yesterday
Crushing dust and hurtling down my words to the pens and pushing the mute
gray bulls to the edges
I dedicated to you a people of the wind where, in your silence you capsize so
that earth, you create me
When you rise in your color, where there is a crater ever in leaf, visible in the
future

Edouard Glissant