Then we met more often. <br />I stood at one side of the hour, <br />you at the other, <br />like two handles of an amphora. <br />Only the words flew between us, <br />back and forth. <br />You could almost see their swirling, <br />and suddenly, <br />I would lower a knee, <br />and touch my elbow to the ground <br />to look at the grass, bent <br />by the falling of some word, <br />as though by the paw of a lion in flight. <br />The words spun between us, <br />back and forth, <br />and the more I loved you, the more <br />they continued, this whirl almost seen, <br />the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.<br /><br />Nichita Stanescu<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sentimental-story/
