March Strolls

On the other side of the pond,
between the reeds made of spring,
a season forgotten, and you on that stage of southern countries
me, looking at your back, all imagined
me being you and me
and the sun that never stops

today on a beach, half-cast by clouds
with a timid sun, that does not want us to believe its heat
Only showing it to us when we prove our love,
and the waves, where you always greet me
dancing what you saw in me, on the stage, a day, on another sea

Everything is surge, impenetrable
until we grow like the tree in that park,
with hidden roots absorbing- neither more nor less than what it needs,
pressing to the earth, ascending to the sky
and I want to dance that way
without its illusion