When I die, do not tell anyone it was for you.

When I die, do not tell anyone it was for you.

When I die,

do not tell anyone it was you.

Cover my cold body with one of these sheets that we flooded with kisses when it was other hours the watches of the world and there were not even those who knew of us;

and then takes you to the sea where you can to be just another poem - like the ones I wrote as soon as dawn fell on the windows and I

I was afraid to lay down with your shadow. Leaves

that in my arms then the birds

(which, like me, bring between the feathers the nostalgia of a loaded summer of passions).

And plant around me a row of roses white bees that call for bees, and a string of trees that pierce the night -

because death must be clear like salt in the sheath of waves,

and blindness always scared me

(and I've blinded you with love, but do not tell me)

When I die,

let me to anyone that was for you.

to see the sea from the top of a rock and not touch with your lips my cold mouth,

And promise me that you rip my verses into pieces so small how small were my hates;

and then the spears in the solitude of an archipelago and parts without looking back no time:

if someone sees them from afar shining in the dust,

he will see that they are flowers that the wind has undressed,

stars who have escaped the darkness,

raindrops,

tears of the sun,

or feathers of an angel who lost his wings for love.