Red reflections
from songs
by Billie
before the empty stairs.
Another broken heart
won’t reach
the flight of Spring.
Early Winter roses
January grass
an open grave
waves back.
Blue blanket
covers electric skies
behind a crimson curtain
Chet Baker continues to play.
Shaded pigmentations
from season into season
the fog begins to lift
and Jazz is what remains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem