Now, after love, you and I relearnthe fundamental landscape, a naïvepainting that is nothing morethan it appears – railroad, pine grove, water tank,the irrelevance of literature. Soonthe proper aesthetic distance willassert itself and we’ll describethose shivers and moans. Meanwhilelet us gaze out the window at the Octobersunset, and the end of anotherluminous day. We should give thanksfor small favors: here comes that oldengine driver, the moon, hauling her cargoof stars across the vast prairie of sky.
by Moshe DortranslatedbyBarbara Goldberg