With your name I can cure pain after pain and if I whisper it, ...the wounds begin to heal. But stay, ask me no more about the burning purity that once was in my eyes : a secret coming from you that now has been effaced. Never since I left the cradle, o Mother, have I found sleep again. I was mad into a man and the child in me grew old. Of what you knew are left only some broken pieces, but if you sing, the ancient child will rise once more in the melody. For in your voice there still civets the swing of bygone time around which years are thrown together and all eternity is gathered. Every time night falls onto the world, dread also falls upon my breast and a thousand cares possess me. How I do fear for you that you may go to sleep never to wake again, when daylight breaks from the pit of darkness. Who knows towards what shores, what open sea the boat of the dead takes you in the deaf night. You return, shortly before dawn. Night is a hay steak strewn all over your rumpled hair, and fear has drawn around your eyes the enigmas of strange tattoos. If only I could run with you towards some mountain speak, or borrow a star so we could flee the face of nothingness and reach primeval eternity on its most remote incline. There would you live, forever sheltered, between God’s blessing and my love.