It’s a still life water color
of a now late afternoon
as the sun shines through the curtain lace
and shadows wash the room
And we sit and drink our coffee
couched in our indifference
like shells upon the shore
you can hear the ocean roar
in the dangling conversation
and the superficial sights
the borders of our lives
And you read your Emily Dickinson
and I my Robert Frost
and we note our place with bookmarkers
that measure what we’ve lost
Like a poem poorly written
we are verses out of rhythm
couplets out of rhyme
in syncopated time
lost in the dangling conversation
and the superficial sights
the borders of our lives
Yes, we speak of things that matter
with words that must be said
“Can analysis be worthwhile?”
“Is the theater really dead?”
And how the room is softly faded
and I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
you’re stranger now unto me
lost in the dangling conversation
and the superficial sights
the borders of our lives
Prevod na srpski
Besciljan razgovor
Akvarel mrtve prirode
sada kasnog popodneva
dok sunce sija kroz zavesinu čipku
i senke peru sobu
A mi sedimo i ispijamo našu kafu
zavaljeni u svoju ravnodušnost
kao školjke na obali
Možeš čuti urlik okeana
u besciljnom razgovoru
i površnim uzdasima
međama naših života
I ti čitaš svoju Emili Dikinson
a ja mog Roberta Frosta
i beleženjem gde smo stali
merimo šta smo izgubili
Kao loše napisan spev
mi smo stihovi van ritma
kupleti bez rime
u sinkopiranom ritmu
izgubljeni u besciljnom razgovoru
i površnim uzdasima
međama naših života
Da, pričamo o važnim stvarima
rečima koje se moraju izgovoriti
“Mogu li se analize isplatiti?”
“Zar je pozorište zaista izumrlo?”
I kako soba polako bledi
a ja samo ljubim tvoju senku
ne mogu da osetim tvoju ruku
sada si stranac za mene
izgubljen u besciljnom razgovoru
i površnim uzdasima
u međama naših života