What seems to break from the scarlet morning

What seems to break from the scarlet morning,
whose white seed pierced the clouds and rose
in the heavenly canopy, is the vermillion rose
that blooms because she blooms. The morning

whose artifice is sewn by hand in the rose
and violet hue of flesh, the strange morning
who sends down rain is a sighing morning
without a why. I am like the Sun that's rising

as large as a god, I am like the small hands
that cannot be above me. The clouds of cloth
obscure the spectacle that receives the hands

of the prostrate man. The morning is a cloth
beneath us and the heavens open their hands
to apprehend the pilgrim in tattered clothing.