The telephonic shrill
urgents me
blearily into dawn.
Discomfited I roll
myself across
a seeming endless
counterpane,
set foot
on an insecure floor,
retrieve the handset
and receive
a droning earful.
Bliss was it in that dawn
to be asleep,
to be awakened serves
to remind oneself
they’re far from heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem