Song

The sky is a glossy navy blue. The clouds upon it, in tufts, tufts, like cotton bolls, are scattered. A star, clear, clear, so clear, shines, twinkling, between two clouds. The night wind comes, neither cold nor warm, it caresses — with invisible lips — my bare neck, without the black shawl, the bare strands of my hair, without the headscarf, the lobes of my ears, whispering with your sweet voice, without shouting, and it seeks, seeks a way, a way, through the collar of my shirt onto my skin; it wants me — unveiled, with nothing else present — as I am, naked, sitting in the night, in the path of the night, with no stranger’s lamp present. My fingers — self-governing — as if at the command of a call far from my ear, seek the round buttons of my nightdress, undo them, and I, all at once, am drowning, drowning in your water...