When you see me, you insult me
By moving away.
You insult me every day.
I never say a word,
Too stunned to speak, this life being so absurd.
The sky is beautiful—this sky that I will never touch;
I will never touch the distant clouds within higher, softer clouds:
I love the sky’s beauty so much!
The sky, too, moves away.
It moves away throughout the day.
Look at me! Listening to Mozart on my phone
With my coiling, green earbuds!
You might think I’m terribly alone
Just like the dead—who are silent—silent!—underground,
Even though right here they can be found—
And look, the trains are running! I’m hearing Mozart’s sound
Which also moves away
Like everything moves, moving away from me, every day.
It is the language of everything which lives,
A cloud, a face, a crescendo, which dies away
Peacefully, not unkindly, and so what can I say
To you, who never could say
Why you loved me, and who always seemed to be on your way,
As now you veer away from me in what seems like sorrowful hate.
Insult me, then. Something beautiful will insult you, too, on some beautiful day; just wait.