How sweet time feelswhen it’s too late and you don’t have to followher swinging hips all the way intoyour dying imagination
(Leonard Cohen)
When it’s too late it is too late for everything.
Too late to tell her how much you love her. How much you loved to see her move between the kitchen table and the stove, [...]
God (but you are beautiful)
I whisper,
half afraid to breathe
or close my eyes.
So beautiful
(and here with me)
and I am old
and I am hungry (lonely)
and not used
to worlds of wonder.
Come.
(She comes to me.)
And I am naked and I die
a miracle of dreams.
Dreaming,
cold and beautiful,
winter is back home again
in Prague,
like ghosts of lovers,
cigarettes and smiles,
the smell of beer
in crowded cellar bars,
the darkening rooms
and shadow time -
everything now reaching
for this sleepy, soft embrace.
The bridges rise in magic shapes
of rounding dreams
and coming back to where
the one you want is waiting.
My love, all of my dreaming
must be like the [...]
I wake up from dreams
I half remember.
All I know
is you were there.
Some childhood stuff,
some broken toys
served as background
to these songs of need.
Where do we go,
eyes closed,
if not to find some meaning
and blind images of hope?
I crawled upon a beach,
trailing bits of you and bits of me
and building up
this shadow of a soul,
waking up from dreams
I [...]
Tu es si belle, comme le soleil
qui marche dans les rues d’hiver,
qui touche la neige
et les arbres nus et dormants,
qui est là chaque matin,
chuchotant à moi:
Je suis içi… et je t’attendrai quand tu reviendras à la maison du printemps.
Wolf to your forest,
moss to your dreaming of trees -
I await,
all teeth and all feeling;
both wild and tamed -
and unreal
till you call me.
Call me: I’m there
to be nothing or breathing.
Call me: I’m yours,
to live or to drown.
All must be yours to decide now:
who lives and loves
or will die.