O ultima scrisoare

Curând va fi iar primăvară cu cântece şi dor,
Hoinari se vor sui în trenuri ce duc spre tot şi nicăieri,
prin gări săruturi se vor pierde, dar nu vor pieri,
pe drumurile neumblate s-or împlini iar călătorii,
sub acelaşi cer primăveratec imens şi infinit
noi povesti vor prinde viaţa, iubitule, necontenit.
Îti scriu o ultimă scrisoare pentru un nou început,
deşi, se adună anii la şiragu-mi de mărgele
şi viaţa pare a intra într-un ritm ciudat, alert.
Înca mai cred c-ai să te-ntorci cu ochii-ţi căprui-verzi,
să mă aştepti cu o nevroza de tip bacovian,
cuprins fiind de nerabdare să mă cuprinzi de subsiori...
Îmi lipseşti atât de mult, deseori...


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