I am going to describe my lover
in the most ordinary way

look:
she appeared from nowhere
exactly when I started to see the world
as an ethernal field hospital

suddenly she came
like a lightening on the steamy snow
of march
in the eyes of a surprised child

look:
my thought has been ill
from mistrust
my hands deeply resigned
cannot tell anything about heart

she’s not beautiful
she’s not ugly
she’s not short and not tall
she does not obey to any attribute
she obeys all of the attributes
she is of a special kind:
all the swallows of summer
are crossing her eyes
her hair
is as I fancy there would have been
the shivering nights of sheherazade
her mouth
the voluptuous and fragrant cradle
of the smile

her words come from beyond being
as an echo of imagination
oh, I tend to ask:
"who is that who appears like daybreak
misterious like the moon
shiny like the sun
but dreadful like armies under their flags"

and I tend to say:
my lover, sealed fountain
for my thirst of immortality
you are like the wind
you can feel it caressing your cheek
but you can never squeeze it in your arms
you are like night
sleep in her arms
but always only in that moment
when you step into the narcosis of dream
you are like nard
an only presumed fragrance

this is the poem addressed to my lover
that I wrote amazed
by this event:

she is rarely coming, descending from the nights of her hair
like a hindi woman from a magic temple

she is coming belating the seconds
and goes hauling soft paths of leaves behind

any knight of the castle steals one of david’s psalms
to secretly dedicate it to her

she absently listens, turned into herself
as a monastery of pain

she comes from nowhere and goes to nowhere
by shays of night

her breast empties the air of sounds...

everytime one of her shoes remains in the castle
nobody has the courage to take it

she comes and goes
her being
is a forbidden desire

this is my lover
and nobody really knows
who she is