There, on the highest shelf, you will rest.
Be careful, I want you to settle
between the perfumes and graceful antiques
till the day my hands can reach you
to dust you off,
sweeping the longing from your cheeks
and all that waiting may have done to you.
Dazzled lover,
the road of love has changed.
The concerns of this strange age become
a cross on which the beloved dies,
a token for those of no invention.
Warp your self in a grave-like silence
and the solitude of a melancholy night.
Tell your soul: these days, emotions are hard as wood,
and you are merely a small concern among many.
All you are is a swing where one rests a moment,
or summer fruit, unexpectedly come to us in winter.
Why then, out of the blazing furnace,
do you exert yourself each evening,
emerging from the moment of fusion,
to coax dream-buds into flowers
and throw open a window for longing,
a window for longing.
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