t

    in t cellar

    I once sa mines.

    I know

    you

    believe me

    but

    it sings

    salt sings, the skin

    of t mines

    sings

    hered

    by th.

    I shose

    solitudes

    when I heard

    the voice

    of

    t

    in t.

    Near Antofagasta

    trous

    pampa

    resounds:

    a

    broken

    voice,

    a mournful

    song.

    In its caves

    t moans, mountain

    of buried light,

    translucent cathedral,

    crystal of the sea, oblivion

    of the waves.

    And table

    in the world,

    salt,

    powder

    sprinkling

    vital light

    upon

    our food.

    Preserver

    of t

    holds of ships,

    discoverer

    on

    the high seas,

    earliest

    sailor

    of ting

    byhe foam.

    Dust of the sea, in you

    tongue receives a kiss

    from ocean night:

    taste imparts to every seasoned

    dish your ocean essence;

    t,

    miniature

    cellar

    reveals to us

    more tic weness;

    in it, aste finitude.