What is the sea? Immeasurable distance
of wide movements and tides,
like a sleeping body that breathes?
Or this that nearest reaches us,
Break of blue on the shimmering beach,
Where water becomes aerial spume?
Love might be the shock that travels
In the blood red veins stained
And shivers nerves like a blade?
Or maybe this indefinite motion
That my body transports toward yours
When time goes back to its beginning?
Like the sea, love is peace and war,
Ardent agitation, deep calm,
Light stroke of skin, fingernail that wounds.
[ José Saramago, "Analogia", Os poemas possíveis, 1966 ]