Alone on the way towards
a chosen gray unknown
- with at left and at right-
the beloved season-reason to be,
she questions the last withered leaves
on their late destiny.
Meantime, holding her yellow coat,
you complain
and I am still seeking for your fingers
to paint an able sunshine
whose power melts the haze.
These days we all are
souls without masks
in a quiet dance of
impossible love.