The dawn, tiara of the sky, rail for the wind, proess, sound of an angel whispering the name of the days. After you there was always the song, the gondolas of the clouds without destination, the airless symphony of the cathedrals' white stones, the orchards with rays of a prior sun. You, my dream, the passing seconds, the notes left in the air to embrace your way, my incantations to fall again in the tears of a pale wave.