I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red
branch
of the slow autumn at my
window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that
wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving
me
I shall stop loving you little by
little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten
you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the s
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined
for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or
forgotten,
my love feeds on your love,
beloved,
and as long as you live it will be
in your arms
without leaving mine.