“The Years from You to Me"
Your hair waves once more when I weep. With the blue of your eyes
you lay the table of love; a bed between summer and autumn.
We drink what somebody brewed neither I nor you nor a third:
we lap up some empty and last thing.
We watch ourselves in the deep sea’s mirror and faster pass food to the other:
the night is the night, it begins with the morning,
beside you it lays me down.”
―
Paul Celan,
Nineteen Poems
