After having loved we lie close together

and at the same time with distance between us

like two sailing ships that enjoy so intensely

their own lines in the dark water they divide

that their hulls

are almost splitting from sheer delight

while racing, out in the blue

under sails which the night wind fills

with flower-scented air and moonlight

- without one of them ever trying

to outsail the other

and without the distance between them

lessening or growing at all.

 

But there are other nights, where we drift

like two brightly illuminated luxury liners

lying side by side

with the engines shut off, under a strange constellation

and without a single passenger on board:

On each deck a violin orchestra is playing

in honour of the luminous waves.

And the sea is full of old tired ships

which we have sunk in our attempt to reach each other.