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To
a
woman once loved
In your silent room I
laid listening
to bells of distant trams; near the park they squeaked into the night,
leaving
me speechless on pillows of fulfilment.
I never knew such
longing, my
beloved, there beneath blankets of white innocent youth, in the town of
Quellinus, maker of beauty.
O, linger forever in
your room
of expectation, my shared flesh. Let me long for you with thoughts that
encompass the world in the blink of an eye. Let me caress the town of
my
youth, the town fit for singing Mahler on bicycles.
In bed I waited, while
you undressed
for the night. Music came from your room, a lonesome trumpet, angelic
brass
that teared my heart out with ecstatic sorrow.
Finally the unfoldment
of ease,
a wonder from Helicon, in holy cloak of nakedness. Blood streamed to
its
fountain again, the systasis of two corpses bound for death.
Then the longest
summer was
never brought to an end; it still endures and never wanes; still its
expectation
glows and angelic brass is heard again in Spanish nights.
Though lost, you were
found
again, unexpected, in the Beloved of all singing hearts, in the
Banisher
of sorrows.
O, my loved one, I'm
still waiting
in your silent room. I still can hear the tuba mirum. Still the blanket
of innocence is on my shoulder. But by now Brahman, the Fulfiller, is
clinging
to my heart, in images strongly resembling yours.
And there is nothing
to long
for anymore.....
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