Wooden lights shining at the back of my mind, reflecting screens of untoward emotions reeling themselves in, away from my heart - protecting me interiorly with practised rhetorical exercises.
Saving every tear in crystal chalices, preserving the pain so as not to feel any of it as I write.
Being able to see all it's aspects clearly without having to feel any particle of it.
Stacking images high into the atmosphere, keeping them out of reach, a safety net devised when just a child of one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem