The snow is gonna hurt me with its white,
I can’t remember the path from this angle
through which the wind blows
and the stars froze in the night breach,
leaving me, one by one.
Wolves are approaching on my footsteps
the trees and the light that I carry
of a lamp forgotten in the night
save me to the woman in white
who puts me to sleep chanting on her knees
testifying the story of love at first sight.
There are signs that boiled wine
makes dreams come true,
the dream to remain healed by chance.

I don’t know whether my steps shall return,
still longing for the unburdened woman,
for the world’s dreams as for her own clothes
and for a few days burdened with love.