If this air were to speak to you
If, in the room inundated with you,
sad for no reason,
it were to speak to you,
it would speak to you

in a manner exact as a bird
over the separating sea,
like a tranquility free from walls,
you would hear my being
dissolved into tender, resurrected words.

As if we had submerged
an alphabet, an entire calligraphy,
and waited for nothing,
to be continuously united in promises
of years without lines or postage stamps,
as if we had attained
the stopped time of a kiss.

Because in a day of this world
nothing exists that is not
my love or your hands.

Things that fit into the sun's immensity,
into the eye of the countryside,
into the mind steeped in childlike dreams,
into the cadence and the purity
of a ride on horseback over the forehead.