You are like a flower
in the middle of the winter.
I never saw you coming,
but you're bursting through the snow.
You are like a pilgrim
who has only been a tourist
in a safe and lonesome hometown
that is all you've ever known.
But I don't want to meet you
in your hometown in the winter;
I think I'd rather see you
as a flower on the road.
If all I ever get is
this mirror's poor reflection,
I hope that you will show up
in the window on the door.
That would give me reason
to raise my only question.
But would you even give an answer?
I know I’ve asked before.
A flower doesn't bloom
behind a window in a basement
and a window doesn't tell the truth
to deaf eyes anymore.
I have a flower
that reminds me of you.
The petals intact
will reveal nothing new,
but if you love me,
and I really doubt you do,
a dismembered blossom
will change nothing soon.
These deaf eyes lost their focus
when I saw that lonely flower
and I wondered if it fell to me
to water you alone.
I have got no water
and we're stranded in the desert.
This is not the winter
that you knew when you were home.
And yet somehow you seem
to be better off now
than when you were looked after
by your family back at home.
You'll probably do better
if I leave you here alone.
My deaf eyes look once more,
then I turn,
now I'm gone.