The running girl

A girl runs on a beach in the Algarve

between sand and wet glory.

You run towards a horizon 

that sleeps away at dusk ...

Is it love that bids farewell ?

Or the beckoning death ?

The relentless waves of the Atlantis

come and bow at your feet ,

leaving the salty trace of a kiss

I would never give you ...

I watch her pass by like a carnal pulsion

in search of denied sensuality ...

Your body  offering itself 

at those ambiguous hours 

that night already  embraces...

The majesty of the Algarve at sunset

turns her into the painting of a blood flower

whose silent beauty moves me ...

I would like to be flesh of the ocean

and come brush against you...

 But do still I have that desire-catcher power ?

All theses walkers with hearts at low tide

don't see you ...

I don't walk ...I fly !

 Perceiving the cry of your soul .

Every step striking the ground 

carries the nostalgia of wings 

burned in the fall ...

 It remains like the breath of a birth

 beyond  terra firma and highseas ...

 Is she searching for a kingdom 

 of sandcastles in the clouds ? 

You, the so well known stranger 

 that the inspired poet

hovering overs the waters 

like a clumsy gull ,

invited in a fleeting moment of madness...