Don't Imagine!

Just like the flower garden inside the window just like the mine of pure gold in the depths of the heaps of earth just like the full moon being always beside the night without a brand without fever: it is you beside me. Beside? No! It is you inside my bones. They only imagine, the passers-by staring at me: at a naked, ever-joyful woman behind the bars of the window, that the demon has carried off the moon and the garden and the treasure...