In this quiet we can still hear
what they were singing yesterday
about the high road and the low road . . .
We hear—but we don’t believe it.
Our smile doesn’t mask our sorrow,
and goodness needs no sacrifice.
The pity we give to nonlovers
is even more than they deserve.
We’re so astonished at ourselves,
what’s left to astonish us?
Not a rainbow in the night.
Not a butterfly in snow.
And when we sleep
we dream of parting.
But it’s a good dream,
it’s a good dream,
since we wake up from it.