הַיְּצוּר הַשְּׁוֹבָב הָהוּא,
לְאַחֵר הוֹפָעָתוֹ בְּעוֹלָמֵנוּ,
הִטְעָה, לְמַרְבֵּה הַצַּעַר,
From year to year it grows more delicate,
and it will be so delicate by the end, —
she said, meaning it.
But sometimes I get the feeling I’m drowning in time,
I get the feeling I’ve been drowning for such a long time,
It’s just that you’re so sunk in thought, she replied.
It’s just that you’re so sunk in thought, you know.
I don’t know. Sometimes I think my strength has once again fled.
Delicate, you know, is just another side of deficient.
I know, and I bless you for your revelation,
I bless you for the color of your eyes,
you don’t leave a thing behind.
And if so, that’s precisely what worries me,
and if so, that’s precisely what grieves me,
and if so, that’s what I feel.
Wrong again: what you feel is goodness, and it surrounds you.
It’s already all around you, bearing you on its shoulders,
if you’ll just be patient, it’ll embrace you yet,
in the end it’ll have to kiss you.
You know how these things go.