The Quotidien

I suffer while I wait for you, pacing through the rounds
Of the everyday, straying within the bounds
Of books and dreams,
Catching glimpses of serenity
Like mimeographs or ideograms
Written in a language I can't understand, a tongue
That only lovers speak, composed of kisses,
Signifying foreign pleasures. I glimpse in the world
Beyond the rhythms and the rut
Of my passage the embarkment of a grand
Barque, whistling through the shining waters,
Covered in crystal filled with wine
Whose tones are clattering glass, that bright life
Lived on the horizon,
Singing the fresh breeze whose margin lies
Inside and beyond the spaces where I move.