The same love.

Love, naked love that you make return
in another body with a different aroma,
but always love, eternal love,
love teenager, immature.
I recognize in the light of your follies
the same stars, the same tenderness,
the tender bird with unripe lips,
and I start again the unfinished ...
Another name and the dawn of another laugh;
other hands of different touch,
another forest of unforeseen fruits;
but inside me untamable fierce ??;
the same love that I flourished centuries ago,
the same love, always in love.

My winter branches shudder
by suffering your unexpected presence,
and without knowing why, spring
the dead channel of my dead blood.
I am again yesterday, growing ember
in this wound? hopeful dust?,
that is revived again with your climate
and flourish on your stem, your tenderness.

Love, naked love that I believed
died in the fever of my life truncated,
the same love with which I learned to die
in each wait of insolated cravings:
the love of my love never extinguished,
the always adolescent love, so mine!
who is reborn at my own times.

The love of my love, always born,
that nests in the cry of your blood
to live his last fall.

Elías Nandino