Whenever I drive from far to see you
under the blessed sky of certain sunsets,
birds flock like crazy over moving tree tops,
wings flapping by the ever deserted road,
dark and purposeless in their movements
but with a reason on their cries,
and leaves shake and echo strong
the wind and the distant sea,
announcing the rain to come.

Neither day nor night gives us shelter,
neither swift thoughts nor reasoned emotions.
I just hold you in my arms, as you do,
to find myself just there, not remembering
the road to come or leaving the car at your door,
not myself, like in the slowness of the dreams
where we watch everything happening,
with strange objects struggling for space
deep within my chest, as wings of birds do.

One more touch and I’ll forget the names,
one more tender whisper and I’ll be gone,
like a thief, before the sun rises,
so light in my steps that there will be nothing to keep,
neither memory nor future sorrow or glory.
Just hold me again, away from time,
when eyes are parallel mirrors reflecting each other
and breathing changes its wise rhythm
into the suffocated dances of fire.

Birds fall quiet with the first drops of rain,
when shade becomes forgiving night.
One speaks softly, like caressing the other,
words laid like the sheets where we lie down,
and the scent of dark amber drunkens the senses.
Never together, never apart, almost reaching
through this wall of thoughts and fears,
your birds wait still in their cages.
Why don’t you let them go?