I was trying to find you like this, it’s true.
And also a nameless nothing
had almost taken the form of something
inside me that wasn’t you,
at least not really, and but still
would have the sounds of your name
if it had speech. How
could I have dreamed that now,
before the window, you
would take precisely the shape
which fits in with the slip
you’re putting on, with the light
whose rays infallibly strike
every hair framing your face
which exists in me just the same.
