In this short life of meetings,
With the coming,
And then the always going of travel,
Among restless and teasing wanderings,
It is you that always separates first,
Your eyes swing away,
Gazing behind me quietly.
It is your kiss that stops first,
The small tension,
Flickering in your arms,
It tells me you are finished.
So, after the flow of all this life,
After all the things I have done and seen,
I fear nothing,
Near the end of each day,
Then I begin to think,
Everything may be ended by your words.