the plane will get off the ground
and we’ll sow fire in water
in the memory of the frozen magnolia,
all movement will turn round as in a dance,
afraid of the leap into the clouds.

I never forget people who lean on my heart
and dream of the naked bliss,
as little things surrounding you
tell the truth about a long travel and I know
more and more that I cannot cut the riddle’s knots
without a floating sword, in a green corner.

a symphony of touch fills the garden
in which I’ve learned to call your name,
so simply, below the rolling sun.

the pain of the new-born is still there,
glowing over the table,
your smile is stretching the air,
longing for a tiny flute.

we cannot yet fly, but the paradise bird
is carrying our whisper
right to the huge leaves’ tips.