61

AFTER A STROLL

When on fine evenings we go out

to take a stroll

beside the sea or as far as a hill,

I see that our relationship must appear

to everyone like brother and sister.

We, who pay so much in blood for life,

which gives back so much unaccustomed pleasure,

have nothing visible to offend the crowd;

to everyone we are two good, peaceful

citizens, a nice glass of wine our goal.

Only in our hearts do trumpets blare,

flags unfurl in the breeze.

And on holidays, even though it might

seem strange that I seek out the loneliest

suburb, who ever would see in us any

other thing than two people outside, dining?

A husband already showing he misses

his freedom, and his jealous wife;

there’s not, I say, one thing

distinguishing us, my friend, from the rest,

we who carry in our hearts

our two conflicting destinies

of love and art.