A wisp of white smoke rises
floats, slowly twists around itself
it’s translucence casts barely a shadow
which dances lustily and slowly
spread over the coffee table
and the back of the couch
you could try to grab the smoke
and clutch it between your outstretched fingers
you could try...
it defies with you with a special ignorance
that type of geniune ignorance that hurts the most
it’s not pretending you’re not there
for it - you really aren’t.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the imagery of this poem. You have captured something ordinary yet amazing. x