You call yourself a poet and I believe you,
those verses of yours born,
God knows from where,
like stars in the sky,
distill light in my heartbeat.
They are clear and precise,
tattooed in the air,
that sail among whispers
and hang in my dreams
like notes from an old lute.
I read you and you reach out to me,
I feel you in every line,
in the echo of each word,
in the dance of the syllables
that celebrate our rhyme.