Your hair waves once more when I weep. With the blue of your eyesyou 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 mirrors and faster pass food to the other:the night is the night, it begins with the morning,beside you it lays me down.("The Years From You To Me")
-Paul Celan
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