I turn on my right and there is a dream.
I cannot sleep. I turn on my left.
We're lying with a poem in our embrace,
in our tender fondlings. A featherlight duvet  
is weighing on us. But I'm feeling lighter, 
enough to escape from myself. A silver colt,
gazelle-like, and wings from a thousand tales and one...
She is the answer to my life, no, no one else, 
my wife, the better rest of myself.

Now is the time of peace in our passion,
the warmth of a cosy slumber of a poem I've just begun,
I feel elated.
Like a simple phrase, yael*, the beautiful 
my only rose : an image of multiple senses... 
This is where the world begins, a primeval maid of the sea,
waveshine in her hair, and on her flesh
the scent of salt of sandy beaches...

Who can interprete such a dream?

		* Yael is a proper female name meaning gazelle in Hebrew.
		(Translator's note.)