Friends make days worthwhile.
All my friends were dead
Before I met them
For the first time.
My passive husbandry
Ushered revelations typically unavailable
To the ordinary relations of the living.
They cultivated in me the will to wait.
My days come at me like fish in a bowl.
I pray for the past to swallow me whole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem