When he cried, I listened
I looked at him without
saying anything, I don't know what
time it was, whether it was busy
in the street, in what kind of room
we were, I didn't look or listen
past him, his words were
low and slow, like a bass
in my silence
and later
my questions sang
as a cello, along
with his story and my feelings
accompanied his grief
That's how we walked through the pain together
Nothing else
Collection "Without reserve"
