When I hear your car roaring in the street,
when the motor-gate of the palisades groan open
and the two Jack Russell dogs begin to whine
as if you had been gone for days
then I know that you are home
and there is something in the way that you walk
when you come near and walk away in front of me,
in the supple magic that you bring to a dress
when silly-mad the dogs caper about
and of every movement that you make I bear knowledge
but much more than this I know how much I do miss you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem