When your hands go out, lover, toward mine, what do they bring me flying? Why did they stop at my mouth, suddenly, why do I recognize them as if then, before, I had touched them, as if before they existed they had passed over my ...

Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea,
over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that colour of wheat.

All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up the stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the fruits
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.