Positano, Italy"In time," he whispered, coiling her hair around his fist. "I will be everything to you."
Even our sanctuaries can become prisons
How deeply and softly the colors of the evening have spread
At the end of the day the fragrance of fragile blooms rises along my path
In the first watch of night
Your voice awakens me, sometimes in a clap
Sometimes in a murmur
And the earth appears more lucid than the moon.
Whose footstep, whose shadow
Enters here?
Who gives me thorns
To decorate my palms
To change the lines of my fate?
Am I to live wounded with flowers ?
May the impertinence of my eyes be forgiven
May they look on you just a little
What my lips couldn't say, my gaze says for me.
Where did you walk off,
Where did I?
I kept roaming thus,
I didn't find what I was looking for
But on this bluff I beheld the world.
What is this place
Where I have no rule over joy
No power over sorrow?
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