about Spring
is the way she doesn't choose
to dazzle anything
gradually.
One day—abruptly,
like a fist
which is opening—
on the bright-kite breeze
surfs the balmy smell
of lilacs
already relieved
to find themselves
decomposing—
not to mention
every speckled starling
who immediately begins,
when he lands
in the green,
to contribute his insights
to the raw mind of nature.
It's as if,
all at once, dolor
begins holding
its breath
as the distance
that exists beween heaven
and earth
collapses
from the width—
to the depth
of one leaf.
