The road, still long night and day, crosses deserts, forests,city sidewalks; lights of houses and shop windows shine,altars of temples, itineraries of love, desires for good,comforted sufferings, peaceful beaches.Now fugitives, we try obliged paths, highways of life,shouts and noises; fall leaves that always whispersomething to us,and the wind drags them on wheels and whirlpools,on pierced eaves from the frost of a night.Doves leave and repeat the round, elegant, sumptuous,at their wings I entrust the morning, in their sober eleganceit disintegrates and recomposes itself in a flash the infinite.