Classic Poem

Though I'm thinking of you ceaselessly,
I can't somehow remember your face.
I come to myself, and realize I'm humming over and over again
a tune of some music that caught my ear.
Though I think I'd like to see you
it's not so much a passion as a curiosity:
I'd like to make certain of what's what with myself,
in front of you, once again.
What comes after doesn't come to my mind.
I can't imagine holding you either.
Only, the world other than you is quite wearying,
and like an actor in a movie filmed at high speed
I light my cigarette slowly.
Then, living without you
begins to look like a pleasure.
You may be by chance one of the time-honored beautiful sculptures
I saw in another country.
By it, a fountain was sparkling high in the sun.