It’s autumn, cover my heart with something,
with the shadow of a tree, or rather
with your shadow.

I’m afraid that I won’t see you any more, sometimes,
that I’ll grow sharp wings reaching the clouds,
that you'll hide in a stranger's eye
and it will close with a wineleaf.

So I approach the stones and stay silent,
take the words and drown them into the Sea.
I whistle the moon and rise it and transform it
in a big love.