And entering these Daedalian years,
the loneliness, the cold delicacy
of the dark, entering slowly, step
by step, hand in hand, we couldn’t
help but watch each other stumble
— fall. Time took us by the knees
like water.

Separated from the ground, gone,
we could only lay, utterly worn,
utterly clear — as suspended
in mid-air. The distance between
our lips infinite and microscopic.
I was with you, you were with me.

After the deluge, after the struggle,
only the freedom of this place
was given. I could kiss your most
fragmented days — you held mine.
It was as simple as a musical
phrase. The worst part — over.

No one tried to adorn it with
words. Having to be satisfied
with drops from the tap, when
the highest lakes or an ocean
move in you, never soothes.
We were cut from the same stone.

So we just kept on getting through.
Accompanied by an aria in the most
hostile places. And those who saw us
dancing concluded we were insane
— they couldn’t hear the music.