Wahnfried                                                                                           

In mysterious union, once found, once lost,

We crossed into our illusion's peace.

Where the new dawn fades and finds us not together.

Under the sightless stars with nothing left to wish upon.

In lunar lament, the moon is now a groping beacon,

To slumber and illuminate the space between us.

While the axe finds first the tallest tree,

While the sound of the flute returns to the bamboo,

We stroll through our illusion's peace.

Past the mouth, the gate of our misfortune.

The ears for our loving words, the gaze of salt pillars,

Where for the first time, there is nothing again.

While we hold and harbor the space between us,

And separate the mirror from its reflection,

From our illusion's peace, I bid thee come.

And you, so afraid of love, with wishes and outcomes

As dried leaves in a tottering breeze.

From our illusion's peace, I bid thee come.

And you, keeper of the true smile, tormentor and savior,

Who would just as soon roll a stone

In front of our illusion's peace, I bid thee come.

Come then and see the wounds,

Rest your fingers inside them and contemplate

Partners and partners and days of old.

Surely you need not change

In our illusion's peace.

Let us stroll then, you and I,

Lost and found in the fading dawn.

Under the wishless stars and groping moon.

Past the fallen tree and the silent bamboo.

Past the pillars of salt.

Between the space and the mirror.

Between the leaves and the breeze.

With the smile and the stone.

With the old and the uncommitted faces

For whom you refuse to change.

Let us gaze then, you and I,

At the wounds and the wounds of love

With resting fingers, and let this time,

The first time, not be nothing again.

For here in our illusion's peace, I bid thee come.