![]() Weren’t you amazed by the caution of human gesture on Attic steles? Weren’t love and departure laid so lightly on shoulders, they seemed to be made of other matter than ours? Think of the hands how they rest without weight, though there is power in the torso. And yet, when you’ve endured the first terrible glances, and the yearning at windows, and the first walk together, just once, through the garden: Lovers, are you the same? When you raise yourselves one to another’s mouth, and hang there – sip against sip: O, how strangely the drinker then escapes from their action. So that you promise eternity almost, from the embrace. I know you touch so blissfully because the caress withholds, because the place you cover so tenderly does not disappear: because beneath it you feel pure duration. ![]() ![]() But who would dare to exist only for that? You, though, who grow in the other’s delight until, overwhelmed, they beg: ‘No more’ -: you, who under your hands grow richer like vintage years of the vine: who sometimes vanish, because the other has so gained the ascendancy: I ask you of us. Have you a sign? Look, it happens to me, that at times my hands become aware of each other, or that my worn face hides itself in them. Lovers, each satisfied in the other, I ask you about us. And all is at one, in keeping us secret, half out of shame perhaps, half out of inexpressible hope. ![]() Only we pass everything by, like an exchange of air. Look, trees exist houses, we live in, still stand. Lovers, if they knew how, might utter strange things in night air. ![]()
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