We don’t know the color of the moon.
I’ve seen her dreaming yellow in the beginning of the evening
As if she were the sun.
I’ve seen her sad, mute and blue in the morning
In love: O what have I done?
I’ve seen the moon change color with the changing clouds,
Clouds the swift night wind is forming,
Clouds which escape, but barely, from the sea.
You didn’t think there was desperation, did you,
In the still evening sky? Maybe you do know,
For your sadness always moves,
Almost escaping, almost happy.
The color of the moon. Is it a voice or a mood?
The painters are in despair, for the moon is always nude.
I despaired, until one day I saw a white moon,
Faint, like my heart, in the bright noon.
