There is something special
in the silence of the middle of the night,
the flooding of the soul;

in my arms,
a second moon shows me
just one face of the love,

the other one reflects
an unsubstantial look,
a Time.

I’ll take the circle from my eyes
and I’ll roll it away
to the first star;

I’ll fill out the emptiness
with the double-faced of the ego,
who come down on my shoulders,
at a stretch;

I’m just an illusion,
of a story not given
to vainness.