If I die, survive me with such sheer force
that you waken the furies of the pallid and the cold,
from south to south lift your indelible eyes,
from sun to sun, dream through your singing mouth.
I don't want your laughter or your footsteps to waver;
I don't want my heritage of joy to die;
Don’t call up my person. I'm not there.
Live in my absence as in a house.
Absence is a house so vast
that inside you will pass through its walls,
and hang pictures on the air.
Absence is a house so transparent
that I, lifeless, will see you living;
and if you suffer, my love, I will die again.