My familiar dream

I often have this strange, engrossing dream

of an unknown woman, whom I love and who loves me,

and who, each time, is never quite the same

nor completely another, and who loves and understands.

For she understands me; my heart, an open book

to her alone (alas), is no longer a problem,

at least not to her; and when my pale brow is clammy

she alone knows how to refresh it, with her tears.

Is she brunette, blonde or redheaded? I don't know.

Her name? I recall that it's sweet and sonorous

like the names of lovers whom Life sent into exile.

Her gaze is like the gaze of a statue,

and her voice - her distant, calm deep voice -

has the inflection of beloved voices that have fallen silent.