At the frontages of old buildings,
under clouds loaded of nostalgia
near silent cathedrals
and bent bridges...
On the streets of Florence,
in the morning, with the color of lilac
I weave my hands
in your fingers, burning of sweetness.
And I feel, how my breath
jumps up,
high, somewhere in heaven
where - in the tower of Giotto
pigeons fly
brilliant
and white
as my thoughts.
Light pours over me like a shadow
with the excited whisper
of joyful bells,
sprinkled over me
as aflower of a spray,
Blooming at sunrise.
Maria Ilieva
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreaming-91/
