Your Hands

When your hands leaptowards mine, love,what do they bring me in flight?

Why did they stopat my lips, so suddenly,why do I know them,as if once before,

I have touched them,as if, before being,they travelledmy forehead, my waist?

Their smoothness camewinging through time,over the sea and the smoke,over the Spring,and when you laidyour hands on my chestI knew those wingsof the gold doves,

I knew that clay,and that colour of grain.

The years of my lifehave been roadways of searching,a climbing of stairs,a crossing of reefs.

Trains hurled me onwardswaters recalled me,on the surface of grapesit seemed that I touched you.

Wood, of a sudden,made contact with you,the almond-tree summonedyour hidden smoothness,until both your handsclosed on my chest,like a pair of wingsending their flight.