I remember you as you were last autumn. 
You were the grey beret and the still heart. 
In your eyes the flames of twilight fought on. 
And the leaves fell on the water of your soul. 

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant 
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace. 
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning. 
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul. 

I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off: grey 
beret, voice of bird, heart like a house, 
towards which my deep longings migrated 
and my kisses fell, happy as embers. 

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills: 
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond! 
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing. 
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.