Buenos Dias Issel

My eyes are closing, and my fingers don't respond
to my tired brain, three hours ago I saw for
the last time your face and saw the light in
your room go out and I kept waiting until everything was,
silence and you.

It's useless to try to get up
start walking
it's better to wait for the warm breath of the soul
it's better that you don't come to my room
tonight
it's better that you don't see yourself
years ago, it's better to be here
watching over your sleep Issel

I feel like I have a fever
my pupils are tearing up
and a relentless throb beats in my temples
my hands become one
in them lie small drops
that have beaded my guitar
and now it has a strange shine
and emits a glow
at times and then it fades.
I have no strength left to get up
and it's your image
it's your dream of a good girl
that forces me
to sleep a little.
And now we are together
together walking at night
together immense
with bare, wet feet
by the dead leaves of the path
you are so debated and in white Issel
and your constant smile
makes me tremble with joy
and I can count, what do I know, how many flashes

come out of your eyes
and with my lips, I trace your lips
and a fine rain clothes us both in water
trembling with cold we sit
eternally under an old trunk
and you take my hand, running among the trees
you take me to the edge of the stream, coming down from the sky
like a roar, that sometimes, pronounces Allah
and I feel you shudder when we clearly hear
how they say, I am alive
and I felt fear, I still feel it now, when I get lost
it's still not dawn, the moon is no longer where we left it
and my body hurts
waking up with fear is terrible Issel
it's terrible
counting the steps to my house
not looking back
and even if I don't want to
having to see a will-o'-the-wisp
and run to think of you years ago
and soak in me, your image
good morning Issel.