Think of these things,
as you walk into the sun
into your own day:
a heart shattered like glass,
words lost in breathlessness,
unkissed mouth opened dry,
day lumbering into night,
eyes used to emptiness,
a womb as desolate as a ruin.
What you strain to imagine,
she must breathe each day,
what might have been,
what never becomes,
as you walk into the sun.
(1995)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem