Gathering the mist from
your eyes, if a kiss would speak.
You belong to the world of curves.
Sun was polygyny. Moons
will meet in winter solstice, unmoving
night. Snakecharmer remains calm.
My house has no one
except me. Dots and dashes create
a hermit. Nothing was left to celebrate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem