Let’s leave all of this, you said,
Our house awaits us.
You shall be my shepherd; I’ll be your shepherdess.
We’ll feed ourselves on from freshly milked cows
I’ll learn how to knit,
And you, you’ll tell me stories
At dusk before we fall asleep.
Does our meadow exist,
That deep green grass,
Our chestnut horses with flying manes,
A brook from which I pick out pebbles,
Like precious stones,
While you splash your tiny feet,
Which I wipe with my shirt afterwards?
Of course, you said,
Confidently and definitively:
We are our own gods.
You, the admirer of fire and water both,
You shall start a fire in the furnace every evening
Before you carry me
Into our paradise.
I watched you, believing childishly
In a dream that you dreamt with your eyes open,
On this river bank,
While you fantasized
In your name and mine.
I kept kissing you unforgettably,
For hours, which
Slid out of our
And I listened to you.