Like a Small Café, That's Love

Like a small café on the street of strangers—

that's love... its doors open to all.

Like a café that expands and

contracts with the weather:

if it pours with rain its customers increase,

if the weather's fine, they are few and weary...

I am here, stranger, sitting in the corner.

(What color are your eyes? What is your name?

How shall I call to you as you pass by,

as I sit waiting for you?)

A small café, that's love.

I order two glasses of wine

and drink to my health and yours.

I am carrying two caps

and an umbrella. It is raining now.

It is raining more than ever,

and you do not come in.

I say to myself at last: Perhaps she who I was waiting for

was waiting for me, or was waiting for some other man,

or was waiting for us, and did not find him/me.

She would say: Here I am waiting for you.

(What color are your eyes? What is your name?

What kind of wine do you prefer? How shall I call to you when

you pass by?)

A small café, that's love...