The sky runs through my veins
like a dance on a glittering lace,
like a question
without answer
about you and me,
like an orchard that blooms
every day.
The thought of you
makes me dance
even more,
makes me feel the snow
again in my hands,
forever in crystal dresses.
We've never talked about winter,
sweet children
of waste,
we've only rescued it
with an endless kiss.
You are my reverie
a subsiding storm
on a morning veil
the last gondola of the air
my northern sun
my sonatine
my sorrow.