You are in the sky: I can see you, diaphane, silent, moving so fast – unless you want to pause, and observe, or visit…

Yet, you are of flesh and blood: I know, often you come to my place and touch me, a light finger on my lips, your presence I feel, in my dream, but in the morning I see your sign: the little cross with a diamond, and a drop of your blood on my pillow.

So, one day, one night, maybe, when the moon is out, you’ll let me see you, in all your naked beauty, and, even, if I can be forgiven, touch you?

My finger on your lip, light, timid, hesitant, until you seize my hand, and guide it where I can no longer pretend…

My faery, my lover, my life…

[dedicated to Cara, who will laugh]

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