Where Do You Watch Me From?

by Irma Kurti

What point of the sky are you looking from,

from which flower or leaf, from which palm

tree, from what blue-colored swimming pool?

From a red rose or from a magnolia that

scatters fragrance everywhere, from where

does your anima watch me?

I stay here and wait for a single signal from

you, to hear a sound, maybe just your voice.

I lie down on the bed, turning around again

and again, but I find no calm in the hotel

where you slept.

What point of the sky are you looking from,

from which flower or leaf, from which palm

tree, from what blue-colored swimming pool?

From where, my beloved father, does your

anima watch me?