From You

 Words that cradle the whistling
that brought me to the shore of your eyes,
mirrors of my felicity in your teeth,
of my fallen embraces in your teardrops;
waving the suns of each spring,
hums that hide in the disguises
of unexpected April storms, giving a saline brilliance to the wood
of the most precious, your breath without abashment
of knowing how to live and giving air to its wind, to their adults their innocence and to the children their cries;
you that float between the wings without birds, and the words without voice,
you who gave birth to my words, and my whistles created.