|
|   |
|   |
| Here I love you |
| In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself. |
| The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters |
| Days, all one kind, go chasing each other |
|   |
|   |
| The snow unfurls in dancing figures. |
| A silver gull slips down from the west. |
| sometimes a sail. High, high stars. |
|   |
|   |
| Oh the black cross of a ship. |
| Alone. |
| Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet. |
| Far away the sea sounds and resounds. |
| This is a port. |
| Here I love you. |
|   |
|   |
| Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. |
| I love you still among these cold things. |
| Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels |
| that cross the sea towards no arrival. |
| I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. |
| The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. |
| My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. |
| I love what I do not have. You are so far. |
| My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. |
| But night comes and starts to sing to me. |
| The moon turns its clockwork dream. |
|   |
|   |
| The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. |
| And as I love you, the pines in the wind |
| want to sing your name with their leaves of wire. |
|   |
|   |
|   |
|