Invisible Poem by Matt Mooney
Invisible
Invisible
A fistful of fine white sand
from an exotic strand
slipping through my fingers
without any feeling -
that's what you were to me
the last few times we met,
incognito to each other
on the streets of town.
You'd think I was invisible
to you as you passed by,
fading away out of reach
into the passing crowd
as if it wasn't real
that we knew each other;
as if we had never met at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 6:34:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
