Piano memories
soak
like hot-buttered toast
into her soul-mirror,
and long, long ragged years return,
and he was almost there again,
but distant,
in the mirror,
his huge hands
making
the keys weep
silver-quiver long-ago-notes
heart-carved for her
holding her whisper-ears
and her remember-breath
in a feather-touch grip.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem