I waited all night long
by the seashore
to see the sunrise
and talk to him
and when on the horizon
the tuft of his hair appeared,
made of ruffled and shimmering rays,
there were so many of us greeting it,
the sea foam
which has begun to fill up
white fading streaks,
the morning wind
gentle like the caress of a child,
the seagulls
drawing arabesques in the sky,
a cloud
who wanted the sun all to itself
even if only for a few moments
and it hid it from my eyes
and from the grains of sand
who wanted to keep on shining.
When evening came up
and I could already hear the moon singing,
I hadn't gotten tired
of talking to it.
Yet I asked him to stay
and he said he couldn't.
"That's why the Earth is round
and the sun never sleeps,"
he told me,
"because in every part of it
there's always someone
who wants to talk to me."

January 24, 2018