Coming and going,
night hides between day.
While out side the storm the house shakes.
Under the pillow, they are kept.
Black hearts and love and love of itself transparent.
Late afternoon and ring of circles.
Where the world of deep silence,
down by the rocks,
and up over the edge water laps.
The horse shoe bay is hip deep,
how it shakes.
Everything far out is discernibly,
it is easy to plan ones escape completely.
Nothing can be to close, by you touched, I am.
I have more than once washed the glass,
of the wallpaper, do not reserve.
You do not write,
I often go to bed with your name on the shade,
being born of my name you have called.
It is your eye, the eye in the middle I find.
I find it by myself,
under your supervision are laid blank stares.
Out the window black hearts and love of itself.
Transparent each stare it is blank.
Only with time can the ring of smoke through the trees.
Backwards no chime as if that of sound,
running with time disappears, the clock standing still.
I am coming, you have left, I am stuck on pause, no regrets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem