Time
looking tense
puts us
in its little invisible boxes
presenting us
with a Future
already past
Black shiny lacquered boxes
all perfect unto themselves
& irrevocably closed.
But see, Love:
tiptoe from nowhere
& open each one
with a mischievous grin
so that like air
we flow from one to the other
& back again.
Time unable
to contain
us
any longer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem