You’re lying to me,
we are not ordinary visitors.
I love you even if it’s not May anymore.
I don’t grieve for the other visitors,
but I meet them as if I love them, too.
Strange visitors bark and bark. Taking out bottles,
they sit down at the tables, without making any effort, and drink.
They greet each other with unkind glances.
Having heard a signal indicating that a visitor is waiting in the vestibule, I understand, politely stand up, smile gently, invite you to a cup of May.
You, you, you and my bridges with the real world are burning.
You, you, you and the dogs squeal and squabble while the flowers wither.
I understand that in a hunting harness I run like a lame dog.
You arose, and you…I stick to you like a cloud of dreams.