When Love itself comes down on earth,
under the shape of autumn or as book,
when eyelids fall caressed by the wind,
then all the springs want to water us.
For all in me is named Love
and all burns down under the long call
whose miracle, quiet, in one thought
glows feeble in flower petals.
When Love itself comes out of itself
trying to banish all fear from our souls,
what tears, what longing, what round bread
await for us on the threshold with sweet wimple?
Detached as real from icon wood
the look comes burning through time,
of the gentle Shepherd Who put together
time in womb and in chest immortality.