I have begun
like a somnambulent child
stepping in her house,
empty rooms,
light breeze in the foyer,
the morning sunlight
drawing me in,
all the way in.
I dare not move
to break this nuit de reves
because I am
the guest of honor.
This house is
my fleur de camomile,
and I hold it gently
in my mind.
Distracted from memory,
I am moving in silence
against the mystery
of what binds me
to these hungry ghosts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem