Your voice is fixed in the space
like honeycomb in diluted notes,
and your song falls so smoothly
like a clear caress of a light shower.

Melodies inhabit your veins
that circulate from your moons presence.
I said what fruits bloom in your lips
that they perfume your voice of transparency.

I said what fortunate, what crystals,
they fill your voice of blue harmonies;
what music nourishes your throat
like choosing a magical flute.

A generous tree between your blood
in chords of light it is scattered,
and in musical stalks it is risen
like a melodious banner of your soul.