He was the shadow of the deep bed.

He was very beautiful, and as always

there was something perfect,

as though I were his cousin.

On the map he had shown me

a forest, but there was no such forest,

hence the lies, the discomfiture,

and the rest — the manor steeped

in the odours of freshly ploughed

earth, shops rife with Trieste dialect.

And his messages ended with vows

like, “Believe me, I am always

at your side.” It is impossible

to relate what or how he played,

the sudden modulations that

I could not grasp. I felt at such times

that only my body was riding,

yet I said the loveliest things.

He awoke with the violence

of the sensation, so that I was forced

to fasten with pins. His sisters again

donned their sombre mourning.

Even the sea-birds lost their way.

And then the moon rose and shed

a different light. Listen how he

dreams, how he weeps!