Waking up: the northern pine forest—
The urgent drum beats of the earth
The alcohol of sunlights stored in the tree trunks
Is stirring the ice of darkness
As the heart and the wolf pack howl to each other

What the wind has stolen is wind
The winter, owing to the debts of heavy snow
Appears greater than its metaphor
Nostalgia is like a king with his kingdom lost
What it searches for is an eternal bewilderment

The sea looks sad, dying for the living
The constellations take it in turns to shine on love—
Who is the panorama’s witness
Who guides the horn call’s rivers
And the rebellion of orchards?

Have you heard it? My love
Let us grow old hand in hand
And hibernate with words
The rewoven time leaves behind
A fastened knot or an undone poem