Your hands,
sure and trained,
are drawing for me
the aroma of an apple
on the sand,
and through the yellowish flame
I distinguish the dying horizon.
An old rainbow's still
my guiding light,
and I'm trying to find out
where the moments
of your gone footprints are,
as the last summer
we spent with friends,
you ran away
with a happy laughter at sunset
between the sea, sun, sky and sand,
leaving but a memory behind.
