What is that?
Let me see.
This poem, "Time of Love," [? Luisa ?].
OK.
This is called, "Time of Love."
"When you love me, I drop my polished mask.
My smile becomes my own.
The moon, the moon, and these very trees of this instant,
the sky, the light, presences that open into vertigo
and are newly born and are eternal.
And your eyes as well are born with them.
Your lips that, in naming me, discover me.
When I love you, I am sure I don't end here,
and that life is transitory and death a transit,
and time a blazing carbuncle with no worn-out yesterdays
with no future"