RIMA XXIX

In my lap I was holding
            an open book;
your black curls brushed
            against my cheek;
I think we were not seeing
            any of the letters;
but both of us remained
            completely silent.
How long did it last? Even then
            I could not know;
I only know there was nothing
            but our breath
that was rapidly escaping
            from our dry lips.
I only know we both woke up
            at the same time;
our eyes met, and then
            a kiss resounded.

    ……………………………….…………………...

The book was written by Dante;
            it was his Inferno.
As we looked at it again
            I said, trembling:
Now do you understand how a poem
            can be just one line?
And she answered, passionately:
            «Now I understand!»