In a land as close as birds to the branch
and as far as the moon from the window,
I came to do the one thing I must do, and that is
to kiss your hair because it is the night wind
and to kiss your lips which are the river beneath the night wind,
and to be inside your arms like a lost star.
In a land where to look at birds is to fall,
and falling, to make them seem to shift and fly,
it is really us who move, who fall, who flock and who have no language,
but yet, in wind and darkness, entwine and sing.