Lullaby, sung by a woman to her husband

Sleep, darling. For our love
is a big apple orchard.
Here the wood of trees snaps silently,
here we will be sweetly sleeping.
Sleep, darling. What you would like
in my arms is becoming a dream
over which you would smite your brow
you will see as if under steamed-up glass.

Let yourself dream about a huge meeting.
Somebody has been storming forcefully from the podium.
He’s accusing you. You must stand up.
You’re now a target and under your eyes,
as targets do, you have black circles.
You’re defending yourself: What have I done?
Let those who have known me bear witness!
A friend who you have known since childhood
is looking estranged, cold
as from a wall a bricked-in window.

Let this betrayal sweetly dream
and don’t be afraid; it’s only the orchard
telling you its strange tales.
Just sleep. You don’t have to be afraid.
You’re in the arms of my broad love.

And let yourself dream about one summer
and about pavement, on which walks
a cavalcade, which walked out of your gates
and towards the sunny garden is bending.
A little bell chimes once more,
a little bell remembers once more:
in that casket is your mom
and earth is falling on everything.

Sleep, darling. What you would like
you will dream with me only as a dream.
Over which you would smite your brow,
you will see as if under steamed-up glass,
it was I who steamed the glass with my breath,
so that even the casket became your dream
just as a little cupboard, a boat or a cloudlet,
a little box of children’s building blocks.

"A box of blocks – Yes, perhaps."
Darling, don’t speak. You must sleep.

And the strange woman you can dream of,
madly you started to love her.
Let yourself dream about a hotel room,
and in this room a bed, your infidelity,
then a platform, blurred mouths,
eyes, which do not believe the train,
and life, which remained after her
as a long corridor without doors.

Let yourself sweetly dream about meeting that woman
and don’t be afraid, it’s only an orchard
which is telling its strange tales to you.
Just sleep. You don’t have to be afraid.
You’re embraced by my broad love.

And one more thing. Let yourself dream about your old age.
A table, a bed, a crack-paint window,
out of which can be seen a pole and a wire
and a sky bald as an eye
which is watching without blinking your last silent moves.

Sleep, darling. What you would have liked
you dreamt as a dream with me.
What you would have smote your brow over
you have seen under steamed glass.

"It was you who steamed this glass for me."

So that even death seemed small.

"But which way have you seen the world?!
You have lived everything twice!
Yours and mine! All of it alone!
My God, all of it was carried by you and you alone?!"

Twice?… Alone? Yes. Perhaps.
Darling, don’t speak. You’ve got to sleep.