Confession

I climb down from the bed of night — onto the empty floor — with my arms brimming with you. An air brimming over with the air of bitter-orange gardens. Clusters of lamps, lit, winking, laugh on every branch. Clear drops of rain drumming one after another on the disks of the leaves. The joy of being together. The joy of deep union. Far from the thorny distances. Brimming with you I have risen, far from you, weeping on the breast of your dream — still in my eyes — kind and dear...