The world was left the same when
I returned to this room. I saw
all of the things were in order
but some dust had fallen.

And as I meditated upon this painting by Magritte.
I recalled my waking dream
and how could it be that
I saw you sitting there
in this silent, still waiting room?

Staring into that quiet room,
I turned and saw another
face out of a dream

There were two in this dream.

Why is that she is always waiting there?

I sat on the couch, Christmas music,
French, conversation, children running
to and fro scrambling around.

Shall we leave this house
to walk in the evening air?

Shall we not explore the evening roads?

Come, for these lovers have wasted
what is more precious to me and you

Come let us explore the very
landscapes pf this dream
to fall from the color and
bright lights onto the damp evening
wet roads.

There is nothing here
Nothing at all
that has not been torn or twisted
in passionate debauchery.
Why do I remember you today,
everywhere I go?
Why do I see you – crossed arms in
the sculpture?
Why are you 7 thousand miles away?

Not one year has passed
Yet we have permanently banished
our crime.
Do not rouse me from my slumber
and wake me to this day
Oh, do not harm these dusty
rooms for I have fallen in sleep.

All memories of Permanent Beauty.
Anaesthetize my senses
with Nostalgia.

Why should I care, why should I
remember, why should I wait?

Why this dream?

Every one of the one hundred letters
I never sent
Every one of the thousand
words I write for you.

Every syllable, every punctuation,
contradicts
every vocal sound
Our mind turned against
itself, our dialogue was spent
The communication fell through
and every word failed
to reach its home.

I am tired from this struggle
against forms and space
since passion entered the room
the young lovers in my dream,
to whom I said “quit these
premises.” And since they wouldn’t
leave I say let us go,
and leave this house
and walk with the evening air.

This house is condemned
and the evening air
calls me forth in mystic purity.