There was a time when, often,

Emptily he wandered

Not knowing what he loved.

Until, unexpected,

One June aery night,

She appeared.

To be clear, he didn’t fall in love with her.

With its sharp, soundless arrow,

In truth, it is Love that fell on him.

He shall never tell which came first:

The sight of a heavenly light

Illuminating her eyes from inside,

Or the sense of not being able to breathe

Another breath in her presence.

So that now, often, tenderly he wonders

What can a June night feel like

By the Danube River.

Marú