I would pick the moon from the skies,
I would rip it and break it and pull it down, towards myself-
pull it up, towards you.
I would hang it on a chandelier and then turn on the light bulb
and your face would light up more
than from any sunrise this world will ever see.
I would collect the stars,
I’d throw them on the floor and onto the walls
and then I’d make you walk through them,
on them, in them; on my soul,
through it, through vague nothings and dead loves,
until you finally reach light.
I would get the sun, too,
I would sneak its rays through the curtains
and plant them in your smile,
in your glance,
in your mind,
in you.
But it would all be in vain.
This room, so close to the street, already is
our entire universe.