This is the rare case of movement to the south . . .

This is the rare case of movement to the south, when the body
expects not warmth, but cold instead,
and the gaze of a mountain nymph, who fell to the temptation
of the valley and failed to be sated,
greedily swallows the dark green of fir trees.
Fingers celebrate the recognition of the rhythm
of the forgotten music of lines.
This is a rare case of happiness, when a homeless heart
beats to the rhythm of the landscape.

This is the rare case of movement to the south . . .