In which path of your hand
can I make my way my love?
In which corner of your white skirt
can I get lost, till I don't know who I am any more?
Caresses on my weary air.
Marked fields, surrounded by barbed wire,
in the soft breath
that caresses the dark grass
and your naked legs.
We uncover the sky tonight
and its infinity.

You ask me if I recognise any constellations.
I tell you I don't
and that I've never understood much
and that the light moving so fast
is perhaps a satellite.
Maybe not.

But who cares after all,
if we down here,
are two small spots
on the one line
that makes up the world.


Translated by Alessandra Balbo with Andrew Turner