My love she dreams through distance
Beyond mere times existence
She doesn't have to say she loves me
But she's mine, with smiles with tears
Others hurry homeward
But their houses are not here
My love she talks in murmurs
Diamonds aren't that clear
On the pavements and in prisons
Actors ape the television
Unfold first editions
Of books that they ain't ever read
Songs sound of the devil
My love knows the difference
And how good evil and bad virtue can share beds
The dust and trumpet settles
Soldiers fight their battles
Silhouettes of past fortune
Open doors closed half an inch
Pictures framed in madness
Tremble throughout all autumn
My love she waves, she caught them
In moments that whispers never glimpse
The drunken artist listens
The gutter poet whistles
West End faces look backwards
But can't remember when
The lampstands write shadows
The storm clouds gather
My love she rimes with feathers
On my pillow with a fountain pen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem