Willow
by cristina-monica-moldoveanu
More beautiful than this is impossible, I hear you say to me,
when the piano song leaves for afar from my ears.
I too cry, don't you see, it is not only you crying,
the silvery-green rain weaves for me a dress and the unskilled sun
seams it with untrodden grass.
My fingertips are only a shadow, I don't want
to die as long as I am alive,
there is a delta for everything,
for all the crying of those who have souls,
a sunrise for the wings of thin and long water birds,
who take flight below
closer to the river's reflection of the sky.
Today I love myself
and I am lonelier than yesterday and maybe
I am in love with all the lovers in this world,
I value their full moments after they take a share of everything,
form every mirror of this world
where they see themselves,
I can't, I simply cannot breathe any longer, because I am happy.
I am fifteen years old and my name is woman or maybe willow.