Accompany me in the gear (sharp) light
The blade of my words is maol (blunt)
In contact with your blue oidhche (night) gaze
And silence has taken hold of my mirror

You who see me loisg (burn) in a mountain of hours
Meet me behind this screen of ceò (smoke)
Where the luath (ash) of my soul spreads
To make a highway of geal (white) embers

The rathad (road) is long to Purgatory
And the birds have eaten all the blue bangs of the sky
It’s raining Traveler, I’m afraid to catch a cold
And lose my life under an adhar (sky) far from you

I asked the talamh (earth) to refuse the dust of my body
Not a sgòth (cloud) passes before my moist eyes,
Love is a grain of gainmheach (sand) in this urban dune
I will search for it until my hands catch fire

I’ll look for your gaze in this huge city,
In the roses and the concrete, at the top of the trees
I will talk to the construction worker to let me in
I will convince the abhainn (river) to suspend its course

I have damned my soul for a blàth (flower) of ink
Poetry is a prison of blue light
My city is a nathair (snake) of concrete
It has pricked my làmh (hand) and bewitched me

My fiancé abandoned me near the rùsg (bark)
Of my body struck by a paper storm
I had spent a hundred nights talking to him from a blaze of words
The sneachd (snow) covered our promises of yesterday

He became a clach (stone) when I told him that poetry
Has the ghostly reflection of the sun on the hill
Traveler I’ll give my life and the hope of better days
To write a poem as hot as eighre (ice)