Alas! We shook hands in the shadowy corridors...
The obsession with our common points
moved the window,
which let slip,
between us,
the color of the landscape,
something as if from an old painting.

Beside you,
by your ear,
a wheel flew,
fallen from a god’s chariot.

I try,
once more,
to shield my hair from the palms of the rain,
who knows?