Attempt number 7

As if I am always scheduled with her, here is the earth completing its orbit, here is the time bearing a fruit, an apple. Shall we meet? I found nothing but her, a woman going, I found nothing but a coming dagger. As if her steps are a surprise, death comes unexpectedly, and as if I am always scheduled with her. I am late... I hurried... your emptiness is full of moon. Do I love you, or do I breathe? Wait for the lips, or the lightning? For your body, a voice reminds me of birth when I die (and it is my habit to die many times). I was late... I hurried like lightning!... And I write about lands occupied by others, and I draw a horse in you, stolen by others. I write and I draw... Your arms were open to sorrow and flowers. I used to return to the earth, I used to mingle with the stones in your palm. And your emptiness was full of moon, as if I am always scheduled with her. Here is the earth completing its orbit, here is the time bearing a fruit, an apple. And for a moment, the time gently teases me once, and kills me once. Oh time, be her hand so I can see her. Oh time, be her hand so I can see her.