Today I will just speak to you
about the sound of the water falling,
and of the yellow, dry cattails
that break under my footstep
when I’m sitting down
to see the sun
setting.

Tomorrow I will tell you
of the swallows soaring
in the sky, to which i raise my gaze
abandoning the pen that
writes the poem of today,
making it a yesterday.

and yesterday I have already written
you a poem:
it’s pinned next to the door
so you won’t forget to smell the jasmine
while walking out to the world.