When the violin shut itself into its coffin
coated with soft cloth
two colours met
on a watercolour paper,
blending into another desire.
Summer stretched along
the coast full of tourists
drowsily moving their legs.
Blinded by sun, I follow an opening
drawn in the still, glassy sky.
To cross the frontier
I need sounds spilling over
into colours, shadows getting smaller all the way
and the smuggled language of soil.