Cold

The farewell's tenderness
Still lingers in the air.
With each step
I get away of longing,
Each stretch of hand
Embraces the oblivion,
And it snows
Over the figments
Of seasons unlived yet,
Over the question
That I don't want to bring back.

The nakedness' rigor crosses the sky
And clouds shake flakes
Singing in the air with notes of too late.
Over the field of my being
The peace settles, cold and white,
Burying me in a season in which
Nobody waits for no one.
And nobody sees now
How the love's thorn
Is asking my blood back...
But it's too cold...