You who never arrivedin my arms,
Beloved, who were lostfrom the start,
I don't even know what songswould please you.
I have given up tryingto recognize you in the surging wave of the nextmoment.
All the immenseimages in me— the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspectedturns in the path,and those powerful lands that were oncepulsing with the life of the gods-all rise within me to meanyou, who forever elude me.
You,
Beloved, who are allthe gardens I have ever gazed at,longing.
An open windowin a country house—, and you almoststepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,—you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrorswere still dizzy with your presence and, startled,gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows?perhaps the same bird echoed through both of usyesterday, separate, in the evening…Translated by Stephen Mitchell
