Jaques Robaud

I dream that you smile
that we speak at my door
of books you have read
of the weather as you please
it's nighttime in Paris
then it rains in our wine
I dream a wet garden
then we walk the streets
like coming home from school
steps ahead of our dog
adieu adieu age of games
the age of winds has gone
and everything could be better
everything could be different
I awake among the cries
a madman in derision
calling Marie Marie
and me I am in this black
and I know you are dead
and no one awaits you