Con Cierto Aire a Ti

The wind brings this afternoon the scent
That is accused in some woods
Or maybe it's that I start to
Think
About your hair when you let it loose
And it emits such a particular aroma
That I have only been able to find again
In the breath that winter has
Brought
Here
To hint at the eve of
Spring
I suppose winter has always
Smelled like this as it keeps your hair
That scent of woods

The afternoon dwells in your
Chestnut eyes
With the air of yesteryear that always
Endures
When I'm waiting for you
When I find myself with an
Endless morning stretching out
Like a cold season that
Stays on my back
Until the afternoon settles
In me, it warms my desires
That's why I like it and I like
To say it
The afternoon in your eyes
Has an ancient air

Is it really February or is it me
Who hangs on the wind
Like on your breath
Sometimes I close my eyes
Because I detest
Looking, that the balm I breathe in
So eagerly is the wind and nothing more

And sometimes I forget it but something reminds me
And I think about it again and I tell myself
Where do I have you?
Where are you not?
Where can I look
Without having to find you

The light of the world fades at 7
And I'm just starting to see clearly
As it turns dark, I walk
Thinking that I follow your shadow
While a whisper of the
Loose leaves. They go gossiping
Incomplete phrases and sometimes
Even ask for you

Is it really February or is it me
Who hangs on the wind
Like on your breath
Sometimes I close my eyes
Because I detest
Looking, that the balm I breathe in
So eagerly is the wind and nothing more

The wind brings this afternoon the
Rumor of your voice that gets lost in
The lazy light of the sun and I
Imagine you lying down, putting out
The light of the lamp

In the same way that
I see that the afternoon sun when it
Lies down has a certain air of you
And I watch the last sun of the
Afternoon as it lies down, with a certain
Air of you for sure
With a certain air of you