With your eyes like narrow fessurs,
and your large lips always turned up,
god made you up as a clown of the joy:
your steps are echoing through empty rooms,
they make the golden stuccoes shine out,
your belly is round under your white dress
you're pregnant, life is flowing through yourself
as powerful as a salmon jumping up,
i'm running behind you but I'm too slow
my hand seizes phantoms of white clothes,
you sheperdess, the edge of your cloak
are hiding springtime branches all in bloom.