You write to me. As in a dream you write to me.
Yet it’s no longer really you who writes to me, nor me
Who receives your letter as in a dream.
The news goes away, goes astray, and arrives
After such a long time one no longer knows to what
These words whose violent ink grows faint refer;
And who, in the photo that has faded in the envelope,
Still smiles at vanished suns.
*Translated by Andrew Shields