O the tiniest flower!
lost in the vastness,
hidden in your earthly little stature,
like a child in the alleyway of his wonder,
in the streets of his motley appetence,
drowned yonder in the pool
of his pellucid dreams,
in the crystal chandelier of his heart,
vagabond
in the mazes of these fields.
O the tiniest little thing!
If the whole world has forgotten you
or have not yet remembered you,
if the whole world is taken away from you,
beauty but
would always remember you,
my little childhood hearts
would always
celebrate you,
in me;
your reminiscence would always
sail in the wind,
free like birds
waving, pollinating or perishing,
hovering like hummingbirds
over scarce awing eyes,
lost,
in the vine reeds of your allure,
in the endless torsion of everything
simple
and authentic.
