She wants me to know
one thing.
She knows how this is:
if you look
at the blue moon, from the window
of the slow winter at your balcony,
if you touch
near the fire
the ashes
everything carries you to me,
as if everything that exists,
Rivers, light, woods,
were little boats
that sail
towards those isles of mine that waits for you.
Well, now,
if little by little i stopped loving you
You shall stop loving me little by little.
If suddenly
I forget you
do not look for me,
for she shall already have forgotten me.
If i think it long and mad,
the wind of December
that passes through your life,
and i decide
to leave you at the shore
of the heart where you have roots,
remember
that on that night,
at that hour,
At that minute,
You shall lift your arms
and your roots will set off
to seek another planet.
