The sun forgot us
yesterday on
the sand,
the soft murmur
of the sea
enveloped us
your body gave me
heat, I was cold
and, there, in the sand,
between the two of us,
this poem is born,
this poor love
poem for you
My fruit, my flower,
my love story,
my caresses.
My humble oil lamp,
my April rain,
my avarice.
My slice of bread,
my old proverb,
my poet.
The faith that I lost,
my path,
my cart.
My soft pleasure,
my yesterday's dream,
my luggage.
My lukewarm corner,
my best song,
my landscape.
My spring,
my reedbed,
my wealth.
My wood, my house,
my roof, my home,
my nobleness.
My fountain, my thirst,
my boat, my net,
and the sand.
Where I felt,
where I wrote you,
my poem.