The Old Singer

After singing a young woman’s songyou become shy, your face flushedEven your old eyessuddenly seem to have captivating stars leaping from themYou walk along the wrinkles of your face’s gorges,hobbling into your own memoriesThis parcel of land plowed by wind and rainThat border of the brown earthwhere you gather a woman’s most trusted possessionsIt’s your sun in the dayIt’s your moon at night

A rainbow rises in your pupilsbut it’s an illusory rainbow beside the lakeBack then, dreams of day and night both belonged to youBack then, men all left you in their dreamsAt dawn, they left, taking your looks with them,and leaving behind your heartYou’re still singing those songsto wait for them