If You Were Music I

No Foreign Sky Protected Me, No Stranger's Wing Shielded My Face. I Stand As Witness To The Common Lot Survivor Of That Time, That Place.

Though You Are Three Times More Beautiful Than Angels, Though You Are The Sister Of The River Willows, I Will Kill You With My Singing, Without Spilling Your Blood On The Ground. Not Touching You With My Hand, Not Giving You One Glance, I Will Stop Loving You, But With Your Unimaginable Groans I Will Finally Slake My Thirst. From Her, Who Wandered The Earth Before Me, Crueler Than Ice, More Fiery Than Flame, From Her, Who Still Exists In The Ether— From Her You Will Set Me Free.

Call Me A Sinner, Mock Me Maliciously: I Was Your Insomnia, I Was Your Grief.

We Learned Not To Meet Anymore, We Don't Raise Our Eyes To One Another, But We Ourselves Won't Guarantee What Could Happen To Us In An Hour.

And This Tenderness Was Not Like That Which A Certain Poet At The Beginning Of The Century Called True And, For Some Reason, Quiet. No, Not At All— It Rang Out, Like The First Waterfall, It Crunched Like The Crust Of Bluish Ice And It Prayed With A Swanlike Voice, And It Broke Down Right Before Our Eyes.