How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love, wondered Sharon Olds.
How do they love
without making love?
Ask me I shall tell you.
They imagine them to be
The white big owl
That comes out at dark
On the teak tree
And hoot like
The night is never going to end
They no longer know how it is
to touch with their skins and to kiss with their lips
and somewhere during conversation they tell each other
you can always leave and live.
It is since ten thousand years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem