and bloodying eyes,

weaving out of my spirit a wonder upon your name...

ah, you the elegized, and you the elegist!!!

Do you leave me, after you, any opening for poetry,

you who have orphaned the rhymes among us?

For poetry, O Tammuz, after you brings no succor,

nor is company, O Tammuz, after you any longer sweet...

I beg you, do not reproach me if the eye runs dry,

its thirsting sea turned back parched —

for today you have held a funeral for poetry

and turned the strings of song into tragedies.

You have filled the quarters of the horizon with grief — can we,

after what has stricken us, still take shelter beneath the heights?

Your life? Or a lifetime at which the forenoon chokes,

renewing melodies and building meanings?

I have buried you in my mind, a wingèd phantom

that colors my inspiration and enriches my fancy.

And the loveliest thing in life is a secret you love,

whose communing stays sweet though it has become the past.

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