from the breath of Cronos
is born the island of the goddess
where the lemons grow
departing from the spring of aria
a string of sheep bells
rings from the steps
fleeing before me
leading to the cave of Zas
white steps reflecting the light
the sun rays slide
along a wall of virgin stainless marble
the narrow path of worship
abruptly merges with rough stone ahead
simple limestone
from here to the spring
following the stream
via shrub and rock
that lays bare in the pass
i oversee the southern plain
still below the uniformly gray face
of mountain Zas
that sternly watches down
and guards solemnly
treaded by gods, refuges and sheep
the gorgeous marble crown
like a garment hewn
of metamorphized lime
in the common stone
formed over ages before men
fitted for the god of gods
to the virgin of women
a throne that reaches deep into
the bowels of the mountain
charred in darkness
into men cannot see
unlike the translucent breasts
of the venus of milo
born in this womb
its beauty ravished
limbless now on display
in a vulgar salon
but the virgin
born in this blind cave
the spring of life