Spring is pulsing in my temples,
Stretching, young, awake.
Across the yearning of civilizations
My heart is lying on the windowsill -
Where echo of the linden leaves,
Which went and got themselves splattered
With rain in autumn,
Call from the empty gleaming shrines,
Standing on the precincts of universal subconscious,
And stress every word -
You're in love. I'm in love.
And I've become one painful nerve,
So tender and aching, swollen feelings
Dissolve the seashells I collected
As a child, the blue fingerprints of the sea
Making love to salted canvas
Of the Eastern sky.