To the bees

The quiet vibration of the hours,

when the body dreams

and awake thoughts tremble in the senses.

When truths are pettiness

they blow up loneliness. I'm thinking…

Man is born and dies alone.

After a lifetime of traveling

to each other – next to each other.

Only love remains alone.

On the stone in the tear.

And in the flight of a bird.

In the outstretched hand

at the moment of the warm pupil.

In the nuances of an unspoken verse.

In a dreamed unattainable peak.

And in the silence of the grass,

which will one day receive us

and we will blossom into a flower

for the nectar of bees.