Between the clear water and the great Sun

The Greek Cyclades
host our summer,
we put our feet
on many grains of sand
and then on the roads
of the white old town.
Your skin bronze
for the ardor of the great Sun,
ivy clings to the door of the houses
covers the window frame,
our heads
and our hands clenched,
but the great Sun
it is not strong enough
against your desire for memories,
and not even my gravity
against your energy,
I follow you,
I look at you,
pull your arm dissuading you with a kiss
and then another
your fresh mouth
like cherry,
answers me
but you run immediately to a kiosk,
talking to a merchant,
then come again to me
and under the great Sun
a sudden hug
the brackish air rises
brisk
cool,
and then around again,
for the narrow streets,
in the streets,
along the shops,
among the people,
you relentlessly;
and at noon
among the burning hills
and clear water,
all over the island your name is said
with great wonder.