Do not hide yourself...
it is so easy to smell the transparent poem
in the breeze of your steps.
I know how to find you,
I know how to define you
in unspoken words...

you

cannot just pass by my words without saying
why you chose this way
every time you walk in the sky
and you ask me to dance
in love
on the music of this poem,
ballad of my fingers,
ballad of my soul.

Old memory

comes back again, and again.
it cannot stay old;
its age is counted backwards,
towards where we were
the first time
and many a time
in a concert of silence.
We learned how to

become

one
--each of us, both of us--
how to become
more.