I Have Forgotten Your Love, Yet I

Donde Termina El Arco Iris, En Tu Alma O En El Horizonte? Where Does The Rainbow End, In Your Soul Or On The Horizon?

What Does Autumn Go On Paying For With So Much Yellow Money?

You Are Like Night, Calmed, Constellated. Your Silence Is Star-like, As Distant, As True.

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.

While I'm Writing, I'm Far Away; And When I Come Back, I've Gone.