my little brown dog
bringing back
the black stick
that i have thrown
to the yard
the gray gravel
and purple pebbles
scattered
on a pathway
to her garden
the ylang-ylang tree
still blossoming
on this hot
month of november
a parked maroon
pick-up
some leaves
falling on the
hood
glass jalousies
still closed
some dusts
on the computer
keyboard
opening something
closed
and
dusting off
some unwanted
memories
my hands
shall caress the
letters
and i shall start
thinking again
what now?
where to?
and where
and why?
i am empty
and i am now ready
to fill myself again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem