North and South

Too late we reached the garden of the gardens
in that sleep that no one else knows about.
In the olive branch, I wanted to wait for the snow
in the almond tree the rain and the ice.

But how is the palm to get over it,
that you grind down the rampart of warm arbours,
how should her leaf find itself in the mist,
when you put on the weather clothes?

Remember, the rain made you self-conscious
when I carried the open fan to you.
You hit him. you missed the time
since I gave up on bird migration.