How should I direct my steps to her now?
In which land might I find her,
on what streets of which city should I ask?
Suppose I were to locate the path to her house,
even imagining it,
would I press the doorbell?
And what would I say?
How would I greet her,
would I stare into her face,
press the glistening wine of her fingers ...
Would I unload
the pain of my years?
Once
twenty years ago
in the air-conditioned train
I kissed her the whole night long ...