When night falls and wandering souls get down off their perch, a new world gathers in the street and dances on an invisible music, whistling in the atmosphere. Some fortuitous meeting, next to a fallen tree, a soft kiss between two breathes, the beating drum that inflates under the moon. And under the street light, I find you like every evening. Nothing has changed, for you, for me, my life has to take a new start ; mixed with the fragrance of this night, I heard the dull movement of what's going next, of dreams and children, of antique laugh and disconcerting news. I want to smile, I want to see the sun coming up at the beginning of the day; to resonate again the sweet words in the cold flats, to explode the mirrors .
I see from the window some car rushing, lost lights in the darkness, lightning bolts strike my heart whereas outside everything is just quiet, and I see all those crazy spirits hoping for one last date with love.
In the middle of them, I recognize your face, your face, your angel eyes floating in the middle of your light, looking at me, fifty feet down to earth, crossed by irresolute desires. I look away, but my soul holds onto the window ; does she explode: lost spirits are my compatriots, I follow them, I run side by side with them, welcoming shadow, blinded by the enchanted powder of ritual life. The breath of a new air flows and I heard Joy, which had made me deaf. I go back to you like so many other days under the street lamp, lulled by the light divine ray seeking through obscurity, running upon our shoulders, my neck , your cheek. I BURN myself.
Curiosity is gone, there is only knowledge, after all, the books burned under the ashes of my tears, and I threw the others away from the thirtyfith floor of the new yorker apartment. The air is full of new, purity and silky feathers of the bird given up to your caress; I am skim pasted with my comrades, searching for their old love stories in the morning mist. Every one is going home now, but you will stay here , waiting for me like each night , vanishing only under the sun rays that destroy our stories. Life is losing herself.
Alone the poor nocturnal animals are hunted by us , between two worlds we stride across the streets , laden down with heavy choices and consequences that concern so much more than our bodies . It's in the new continent where spirits , quarrels and the most craggiest dreams fire , 'cause abrupt is the slope till the elevator.
I turn over and light appears in its most triumphant aspect , drawing from the start to the end of the 10th avenue , rushing between the smell of warm coffees which awaken colorful minds, our souls will make do with memories and hope , and as a promise I'll wait once again the darkness impatiently .
Standing on my bed , I salute and embrace with one look all our lost souls from my glass wall.
Under my bed , a last one book was hidden , I open it ... I cry... in a few hours the street lamps will keep us warm while the flames of my bursting apartment will show us the true path .
