Let your palms be the last twilight

Let your palms be the last twilight, Which covers my heart with the shroud of repose, Draping the white silence, an ancestral vestment, at dusk, Rest that descends over a world forgotten by the living. May your gaze, the everlasting starry night, Illuminate the universe that has lain in eternal slumber, There my soul ascends and in turn ties its wing, Where peace and the eternal dream have become sacred allies. May your voice be the vessel of the breezes, Carrying me to islands where time has woven silence; The roof of the seas a muted bell, a proclamation, That the mystery of prayers has quietly unveiled, in its reverence. Your hair, let it be the willow on the downing evening, Where echoes of warmth and sweetness still quiver, Voices of memories in galleries of dreams, hidden and still alive fly, Getting lost and found in the embrace of day’s end. And let your soul be the kiss on my cold eyelids, Unveiling in its clear light, a truth profound and pure, And every tear dropped, a thought of crystal calling me, Is the hour preceding a destiny, a future already signed on the horizon. Our love, late yet so intrinsically natural, Be the wave that raises us and carries us in song, Toward eternal shores, in symphonies of sweet pure harmony, Where love is woven with immortality in the sacred and sweet duet.