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The poet holds a flower in his hand
He wants to look beyond.
Upright on a chair, he breathes deeply
while his tears wet the little flower, wounded by the wind...
The poet wants to say the most beautiful words to the flower.
He wants the flower to exhale its life without pain, accompanied by his solemn and infinite love.
But he senses that no words will fill the void after the last breath of this tender creature.
And he suffers, and cries.
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He can barely put two words together with meaning
till realises that she will live forever in his mind...
understands that his own life is that flower
and some metamorphosis is taking place.
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