THAT MORNING

When two birds sing

in the morning under your window,

and their shrill cries 

wake you up from your bed,

look out into the street, 

spring has come,

and if you have loved, 

you will linger that morning.

The stream that zigzags 

and runs for miles,

searching for all the groves 

to the far reaches the fields,

look for the cold spring 

that calls it behind the white hills,

and both of them reunited in confused silent.

We will go to die of love 

in the sea now,

when you say that you love me, 

and then you dance in the village

with all the boys who have curly hair,

you lie brazenly,

so tomorrow I will go away

further than this country, 

further than all the clouds.