I have come this way
again as if I would stay
this time - not like last
when I was the wind
passing and pushing brown leaves
hard against siding,
deep into sidewalk
cracks and swirling beneath trees,
covering caches
that squirrels forgot.
By next winter I will spread
as if made of ice.
Indeed my heart is
sculpted from the Greenland bergs
that crave hulls of ships.
November 8, 2013 11: 09 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem