The carpet walks back
into the room
but you are already gone
to yellowwood floors
on which your feet tread softly
and on which I walked a time ago.
Your image disintegrates,
but not the longing
and the cold wind sneaking in
through the window
is an uninvited guest
in my room
that feels like a sanctuary
where you were once.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Situation and words have a way