It is cold Lovers have fled the grass and the murmuring voices no longer ring through your castles of sand You return somewhat grieved to your annual death Then we meet again as old friends who faithfully seek each other without rituals without welcoming embraces your waters who camp on the beach and my soul tired of absence Only you listen therefor I also listen to the stories you amassed during your passing summers love stories, surely, and one or two absurd deaths in your arms But with you time aged without healing my wounds without erasing from my skin of distant ashes the few words of love I still remember Only you understand shadow of the shadows the extinguished fires and this Absence transformed to regret Just like every year in the coldest hour Lord I am a child, tired of running scared of the roads and the shadows of the night I have slept on pillows of stone with my open e...