We do not share time, words or mountains
And I do not come from the East
(Whether you stand in Europe or not)
yet time still passes through our words
and the words still come to our lips.
I must give you a little bit of love
For it seems I was born for nothing else.
From you I receive the glory of crudeness
The exactness of America
And all the more
I cannot really describe in these words for they are not mine.
From you also rises the laughter
(yes, rises, like the morning sun)
And once I almost saw the tears
From you come
impossible riffs that find the tune amidst the deafness of
There are other riffs that divide us
and hands that unite us
in a language we never speak
though it is mine.
and you know its sounds and inflections.
and because of it you came to me.
(You must have a fever
One might think
For your hands burn.
And I must be frozen
For somehow I melt)
I wish my English were better
And the words flew from my fingers
as the birds when you watch them from atop
Next time you climb them
And see the flight of the birds
Save the retina of your eyes so I can see the spectacle
Photograph them and send them to me
Your eyes I mean
Otherwise, it will be just birds
And by then you will have flown.
For a second we will share the mountains
the time you take to watch the birds
and the words the birds write in the skies of dreams.