Days move along in one direction
faces in the opposite.
Uninterruptedly they borrow each other's light.
Many years later it is difficult
to determine which were the days
and which were the faces . . .
And the distance between the two things
feels more unreachable
day by day and face by face.
It is this I see in your face
these bright days in late March.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem