Looking through the insides of a dog,
The moon rises over the ocean
In a silent warning.

Looking through the insides of a cat,
I can feel the water breathe through
    the corners of my eye.

I love you, darling, but
The sound of the steamships
Makes me miserable,

And even though the moon is out
And my heart is open,
I beg you not to scream.

Il n'y a pas de médecin dans la maison de l'amour.
(There is no doctor in the house of love.)

A little boy is looking for his mother;
She is drowned in the river
Under the white birch tree.

Il n'y a pas de médecin dans la maison de l'amour.
(There is no doctor in the house of love.)

Now that I write this letter,
I feel very foolish, and all the begonias
Cannot wake me, cannot bring me out.
So I stumble through the letters.

Today I found the letter I.

I'm lonely, my love, but looking
Through the insides of a dog,
I can only hear the ocean,
I can only see the moon.

Mais c'est la fièvre, chérie, et il n'y a pas
de médecin dans la maison de l'amour.
(But that's the fever, darling, and there is no
   doctor in the house of love.)

 ____
*French: “a feverish state”
                                                                        March 11, 1987
                                                       --Alexander Shaumyan