I envy those who do not regret
their sorrows.
Who give away their happiness.
It has never been so with me.
The cloth of a day follows me,
folds its strands about my heart,
and never leaves.
So it was I loved you,
and you never left.
I have not seen you pass in years.
I do not know how clear your eyes remain.
The dawns that filled them
with red dust,
and washed them
with blue oceans.
I do not know if your hands
touch your window,
and you ask, does he pass?
Do you ask?
Have you looked for me?
Did you pass my house
and wonder,
is he still inside?
Does he go down to the bay?
Did he forget to grow up?
Does he play along the bank
and gather green glass?
Does he still love me?
Does he cry like a boy
and go off running?
I hear you as if you are asking me
those things.
Those touches that we give
within our hands,
that we hid from others.
I never stop hoping as I pass,
are you there?
Do you see me?
Do you know I never forget?
I never lose anything.
I never stop asking,
does she live there,
the girl who loved me as a boy?