The breeze must have been hard

The breeze must have been hard,
Just the way it always has been,
By the seas, Mediterranean,
Where once like a dream
I have found
You and then those stories,
Poems, paints, all they came,
Sometimes, one by one,
Following,
Sometimes like the smooth air,
Caressing you and me,
And our story
Too,

Now out of pregnancy,
Whence the our baby
Is becoming slowly,
Worded,
We can only be patient guards,
Of that baby,
And babies of the World,

Is it not, Isabel
Our thoughts,

You knowing me,
Like you walking by the shores
Of our fictions and worded poesy
And unworded too,

Is it not our only Choice,
To keep our voice
For poesy, recreation, rejuvenation, original,
And count the meteors that fall

At night,
Shooting stars like,

Is it not,
Isabel,
Now that i can find you,
Everywhere,
Perfect,

Like this painted us,
You holding your straw hat,
Against the breeze,
Walking slowly by the beach,
And waves of the Sea,
At your feet lapping. (*Note: upon a painting, courtesy: Musica Pittura e Dintorni)