The moon's a cannonball through my window.
You are in my dream It's in my dream, it's you.

I get into the car. It stops. I get out.
Someone will be coming soon. I wait.

How cheerfully, how young!
Is that a windbreaker, or a raincoat you are wearing?

Writing in a room. Someone is writing.
Pages are filling up. Pages filling.

You write one stanza. I add my part.
And we are again as at the start.

You are so young, so cheerful. How
The moon booms through the window!

The car stopped by the curb. I got out.
For someone will be coming yet.

One stanza's yours, mine the next one.
The page on the table's filling up.

Page after page, a growing heap.
Why are we here? And what have we begun?

Translated of Daniel Hoffman

from:The Gettysburg Review, 2003