Une femme est plus belle que
le monde où je vis
Paul Eluard


The night hoists a jaded flag
The rustling of the trees - flutes under the moon -
Two small light beads
Hesitate among branches serpentines

If a voice would burst
A voice torn from the night
As if you would tear a strip of cotton
The heart would be hit by a small stone
Or the statue of a butterfly
And it would sound like a window

A scented call lasts
A hand sits on a shoulder
Soft leave with a destiny in the veins
The night has piled up in the woman's eyes
And you hide in the night
Welcomed is the cold brow
The hands bright plants
And the hair that is slippery like ghosts
Alluring elixir

From somewhere a song
Dissolves into the air
A melody burst opens like a bouquet
Like a dandelion balloon

The fountains of the dream have fed the waiting
Have slowly departed
Somebody stays on duty
Beside the shelter of the tamed storm