you keep your happiness in a box
sealed with fingerprints
looking for the train
that lost it's way
in the night that ambushes you
with it's chandeliers.
the rain and I are the same
and you look at me
as you look at the rain
through the window,
afraid, wondering
why I shout
why the rain shouts
but still opening
bigger wholes
in your wrists.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem