Neither, the intimacy of your forehead, inviting as a festival
with your soft hair clasped by some trinket by your eyes.
Nor the costume of your body, still mysterious and innocent
nor the stories of your life, given in words and in silence
will be as magical a gift
as the vision of your sleep, guarded
by the sentries of my arms.
Miraculous virgin, again, by the absolution of dreams
soft and luminous like a happiness recovered memory
you shall give me that coast of your life that you yet do not own;
as a reward for wiggling in my net of humanity.
Yet, I now discern that ultimate cove of your essence;
and sail toward your inlet for the first time;
perhaps,
As God must have done—
destroying this fiction of Time
free from love, free from myself.
hopeless and fearless.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
....beautiful poem...thank you for sharing ★