When I wear my cap. Return my feet to my shoes.

When I come close to the city and that night plague.

When the conceits of your mouth fade from my lips

and the earth returns to spin on its axis.

And I am no longer able to turn my face away

and we no longer can identify each other—always

lingering like a lilac branch 

that sudden scent of your body

(The Hill of Three Crosses and the Adi Villa),

because you and I will always be bursting 

into bloom worlds from here and until 

the very end of springtime.

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