"I looked in doubt: you will never
.
I went looking for you
in pain.
you did not come from there.
I plunged in
to see, finally, if you were there.
Through the anguish, torn
, wounding.
You will never rise from the wound.
And nobody has mentioned
- a garden or your lips,
with trees, with kisses -;
-nobody told me why have lost you - that you were on the last
terraces of joy,
rice, sure. What was
you kiss on the tops of
without doubts and without a future. At the summit of happiness
pure high
multiplying jubilations
for joy, to laughter, to
charms. Logging in the air
the appalling numbers, weightless,
of your happiness. "
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