For years now you have been my love,
The vertigo I feel when I lie waiting
That nothing can make old, make cold;
Even that which was expecting our death,
Or geadually knew how to combat us,
Even that which we are strangers to,
My eclipses also and also my returns.
Barred like a boxwood shutter,
An extreme and compact fortune
Is our mountain range,
Our compressing splendour.
I say fortune, o my wrought one;
Each of us can receive
Anther’s share of mystery
Without spilling its secret;
And the suffering that comes from elsewhere
Finds at last its separation
In the flesh of our untiy,
Finds at last its solar road
At the center of our dense cloud
Which it tears and recommences.
I say fortune the way I feel it.
You have raised the summit
That my waiting will have to cross
When tomorrow is no longer there