In the light from the screen,
I saw your silhouette

deeply immersed on what's written,
with hair slipped hanging on your face

saw light shining those little vines,
that twisted like a ripe vine

face glimmering by that soft light,
glowing like a kindle in a firelight

your swinging chair produced a sound,
like a nightingale on a winter dusk

and fingers tapping those little keys,
whose clicking filled the air around

and as I inhaled them,
I felt resurrected.