So long together (we) had lived that again
the second of January came on a Tuesday,
that a surprisedly raised eyebrow
like from the glass of a car - the windshield blade,
from the face whisked away misty sadness,
unobscured leaving the distance.
So long together (we) had lived that snow
if it fell, it was thought it’s forever,
that in order that she wouldn’t have to close her eyes,
I would cover them with my hand, and the eyelids,
not believing that (someone) is trying to protect them,
would flutter there like butterflies in a palm.
So alien (we) were to any novelty,
that the tight embracement in (our) sleep
discredited any psychoanalysis;
that the lips pressed to (my) shoulder,
with mine, blowing off the candle,
not seeing other business, joined.
So long together (we) had lived that the rose
family on the worn wallpaper
was replaced by a whole grove of birches,
and we both came into some money,
and for thirty days, above the sea, the long-tongued
sunset threatened Turkey with fire.
So long together (we) had lived without books,
without furniture, without utensils, on an old
sofa, that before it appeared,
the triangle was a perpendicular,
placed upright by some acquaintance
above two joint dots.
So long I and her had lived together
that (we) made from our shadows
a door for ourselves. Whether you were working or sleeping,
(its) halves never opened,
and we apparently walked through them
and through the back door walked out to the future.
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So long had life together been that now
the second of January fell again
on Tuesday, making her astonished brow
lift like a windshield wiper in the rain,
so that her misty sadness cleared, and showed
a cloudless distance waiting up the road.
So long had life together been that once
the snow began to fall, it seemed unending;
that, lest the flakes should make her eyelids wince,
I'd shield them with my hand, and they, pretending
not to believe that cherishing of eyes,
would beat against my palm like butterflies.
So alien had all novelty become;
that sleep's entanglements would put to shame
whatever depths the analysts might plumb;
that when my lips blew out the candle flame,
her lips, fluttering from my shoulder, sought
to join my own, without another thought.
So long had life together been that all
that tattered brood of papered roses went,
and a whole birch grove grew upon the wall,
and we had money, by some accident,
and tongue-like on the sea, for thirty days,
the sunset threatened Turkey with its blaze.
So long had life together been without
books, chairs, utensils — only that ancient bed—
that the triangle, before it came about,
had been a perpendicular, the head
of some acquaintance hovering above
two points which had been coalesced by love.
So long had life together been that she
and I, with our joint shadows, had composed
a double door, a door which, even if we
were lost in work or sleep, was always closed:
somehow its halves were split and we went right
through them into the future, into night.