at 8 in the evening
my woman is already sleeping.
she laid her tired body
at early six, just relaxing
her thought, to the hammock
of introspection, i guess.
as i continue thinking and
writing, about how this life
is taking me,
seemingly away from her,
away from everybody.
the window is closed,
and the super-moon is gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem