There was a time when, often,

Emptily she wandered,

Not knowing what she loved.

Until, unexpected,

One June aery night,

He appeared.

To be clear,

She didn’t fall in love with him.

With its sharp, soundless arrow,

In truth,

It is Love that fell on her.

She shall never tell which came first:

The sight of a heavenly light

Illuminating his eyes

From inside,

Or the acute weakness of breath

Set off by the nearness

Of his presence.

And now miles apart, yet, together,

Feelings refusing to falter,

So often, tenderly, she has wondered,

What can a June night feel like

By the Danube River.

Marú