love is an ice waterfall with your hands in
as you catch the fire wings and let them sleep on a light pillow

you switch off my words and the childhood begins
to grab a wonder. no matter what one says, you are in front
of the figures of snow and recognize your dreams
as they slow down the drums' temper and make you feel blind
when you choose a way at the crossroad

you seem wounded by fear, but you cry aloud to show the mercy
of the windmill, and smile again to the newly born images.

*

the snow is filling your eyes with a new memory
and you remember what we never did, but all changes
when it really happens that love rules over the crowd

we keep the secret and its breath makes us alive

all colours come down gracefully on the brushes' tips
and we know the snowman has no comfort
in our wandering in the fireland; a seagull finds the sky
full of our traces, even if we never met before noon.

Life bleeds slowly and we know this is a sign to gather
the children's toys in a corner and feel free to cry.

God is around us, we are clothed by His breath and release
a living form from the trap we set in a time of despair.

It is safe to bind your hair when you come in
and heal the end of the story in which we were drawn
long time ago, when we first saw a dying sun.