I have always believed
that the loved one never leaves
completely,
that when leaving it does nothing else
but to be returning home,
that it leaves
in secret our
always open a window
a skylight
a secret door,
swallow of the world
of the longest flights
of the snow and the fields and the cities
there is no human language that does not have
a word to name you,
eyes of black peaches
feathers of enchanted forest
I imagine your small and circular heart
like a blue clay
swilled in the sky.
you will leave, we know it,
when your wings heal.
and being already an extraordinary point in the dawn
I know that we will see each other again.
that is to say: we will return to the verb,
I free you free
ergo
we love.