Irene

Longing, I starved you
And late, I buried you with sorrow
If today I no longer know your name
Your face never gave me respite

It would be a miracle not to see
In love, this perennial flower
That sprouts in the black moon
That withers, but never dies

Truth, I surrounded you from afar
And late, I leaned on fear
If yesterday I sang your name
The echo no longer dies early

It would be a miracle not to have
Love, this brief rhyme
That the brightness of the full moon
Awakens from a light sleep

Irene
Irene laughs