After you left, I fell asleep
Lost in a web of warm cotton and
Sudden space, stretching in your bed.
Your dream catcher turns in the morning light,
A slight trace of Eau-de-Cologne hangs in the air,
I find a poem by Rilke on your pillow,
An open book almost lost by reading;
Ich finde Dich in allen diesen Dingen.
But then I lose myself again, outside
The traffic has stolen you like a thief.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem