These poems are the nights
when your blurry and almost always strange image
came to my mind over and over
while every part of me
wondered

          your name

they are the days when I lived trapped
writing these verses while I looked
at the amber-tinted landscape of an autumn
where inevitably I saw drawn
the iris of your eyes

they are the letters
that maybe one day I will read to you
and in a way

          your portrait

the image of the one who stole my breath
the dream of my nights
and of the one who has awakened
the strange poet
that slept inside of me

do you understand?

               you